


Fallen Angel

by xkittydoll



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Adolescent Sexuality, Affairs, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Romance, BDSM, Bisexual Sansa Stark, Blindness, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Choking, Corruption, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dominant Masochism, Drama, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Feels, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, House Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon/Margery Tyrell/Sansa Stark - Freeform, King Joffrey, Long-Term Relationship(s), Loss of Virginity, Love Triangles, Manipulation, Masochism, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Physical Abuse, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Queen Margaery Tyrell, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Rough Sex, Royalty, S&M, Sadism, Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Stockholm, Stockholm Syndrome, Super Rich Kids, Teen Angst, Teen Pregnancy, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, Teenagers, Threesome - F/F/M, Underage Sex, Violence, Violent Sex, Violent Thoughts, Virginity, bad boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xkittydoll/pseuds/xkittydoll
Summary: Angsty AU, underage smut. Margaery is a beautiful, young queen and is so good at being the perfect, loving wife of King Joffrey. Isolated in this glamorous, royal lifestyle, she falls deeply in love with him, however, things get messy and complicated in life at the Red Keep when her strange, new feelings for Sansa Stark tangle in. Language, underage sex, violence, F/F/M threesome ;)





	1. The Boy King

**Author's Note:**

> hehe i thought that drawing was cute :3

 

 

 

**I**

**The Boy King**

AU/ diverging towards the end of season 2. Alternatively, Joffrey never gets poisoned and lives on to wed Margaery. This fic follows Margaery's life as the queen, living in King's landing, and her love triangle between her, Joffrey, and Sansa. It occasionally will jump to Cersei's perspective. Rated mature/explicit for graphic smut, underage sex, graphic depictions of violence, dom/sub, bondage, drugs, and alcohol, abuse

* * *

Over the past few days, life at the capital had been treating Margaery very well. Her new royal family had been charming as ever, and she enjoyed the luxury of staying in The Red Keep. It was much different here than her life at home in Highgarden, not in particularly a bad way, just different.

To start, there was a night and day difference between the appearances of the two cities. Thinking back to her lush, flourishing home made her heartache, as she recalled the elegant floral designs on almost everything. Vines and roses crawled over the walls and laced up the pillars clinging to the gleaming stone. The city was like something out of a fairytale.

Giving an uncertain sigh she scanned the dark throne room she was in now. Light bled through the stained glass above the throne. The room had a beautiful view from the massive windows and was decorated with pretty, expensive things, however, the shadows seemed to be alive here. It retained an ominous feel, the towering pillars, successfully emphasizing the power of the jagged throne which loomed over the room.

The Iron Throne was still as breathtaking as it was the first time she saw it just a few days prior. It was massive, glimmering under the dusted rays of sunshine. It made her recall the exact feeling of her breath catching when she walked through the massive doors and stood before it, to discuss marriage with the king.

Her eyes swept over the endless display of sharp dark blades that made it look so menacing. She was glad it appeared so frightening, fear meant power. She caught herself in a dream, fantasizing for a moment about how it might feel so sit on top of this intimating hunk of metal. She imagined the glory.  _It will be beautiful to be queen._

Margaery took a few steps closer to it, her heels clicking on the black marble floor until she was close enough to touch it. She gazed at this damn chair in such wistful longing, debating internally with herself whether to reach out to it or not.

She thought back to just the other day when her new betrothed sat lazily slumped in this same spot, his head drowned in his palm, appearing absurdly bored with everyone but her.

"Margaery Tyrell," speak of the devil.

The golden voice behind her was already so distinct and unforgettable. It was the kind of voice that was so nongeneric, she could never register such a rise and fall of excited chords with anyone else. She had taken a liking to her new king quicker than she anticipated.

A smile tugged at the girl sweet, delicate lips, and she turned with gentle grace to greet his striking blue eyes.

"My king..." Margaery's voice was soothing as she looked slightly up to meet his gaze, under her dark wisp of lashes.

She stared at him breathlessly, with a certain thirst.

His looks had an effortless way of charming her. He _looked good._   _Really good_. Margaery felt her stomach tighten at the thought of being his queen. Her assessing gaze swept over shoulders, broad but still boyish, and his hands, soft and clean, decked out with glittering diamond rings. For a filthy moment, she imagined them squeezing her and thighs and ass and throat.

He was more than perfect, and she swore to herself she would be very good to him. She wouldn't disappoint him nor give him any reasons to rid of her. She was willing to satisfy him  _any way_  he pleased. Though she was fussing over him in her head she knew to not let herself get so worked up or he would completely consume her.

"Isn't it a work of art?" he was suddenly asking her, referring to his throne. His dreamy blue eyes looked past her briefly to admire it, then right into her eyes.

Her breath seized in her throat but she didn't break their gaze let him see how he affected her.

She could sense how he was impressed with her fearless demeanor, just by the way he was looking at her, but before she even had time to answer him, he was suddenly speaking again.

"You remind me of a goddess," said Joffrey hotly, his eyes flashing at her with questionable excitement and this time he heard her breath seize as his gorgeous eyes began to assess her voluptuous curves.

She felt like he was trying to scare her, with his bold words, and powerful gaze. However, her head remained high, her eyes just as powerful.

He assessed her waist, small and slender compared to her curvy hips and shapely ass. His blue eyes swept over her breasts, that were quite perky for their size—she had a tight corset on beneath her dress, of course. In other words, Margaery was blessed with a gorgeous face and the body of a sex goddess.

The dress she wore today wasn't as revealing as she would have liked it to be in this moment, as her beloved king overlooked her. She would have to wear something more risque next time. Men are easy to control with sex.

"A goddess," she echoed, smiling coyly at him, though she felt her cheeks warmly pinken a bit. "Please. Your words are too kind, your grace."

He smiled smugly, seemingly impressed with the reaction he gained from her, but he was already onto the next thing.

"Come," Joffrey insisted, the smile never leaving his face, "I'd like to show you the garden."

He offered his arm for her to cling to, and the moment it even touched her, let alone snaked around her own, she felt her stomach tighten and tumble and flip again. She silently cursed herself and scrambled to collect herself, as she could only inhale his lasting cloud of pungent, expensive-smelling cologne–one that made Margaery feel like a lovesick preteen once again.

This was the closest she had ever been to the infamous king that everyone talked about so much. She couldn't get over his angelic features, and the feeling of warm arm laced through hers.

She noticed how extravagant and fine the material he was wearing was. She knew the Lannisters were certainly richer than God, let alone her family, but she had no idea it was to this extent until she had stayed with them.

Of course, Joffrey had a ruffling effect on her, yet she remained collected again, showing him she wasn't a little girl like the rest he was probably used to. She had to be his goddess.

When they reached the garden it was more divine than Margaery had anticipated. She felt naturally comforted by the endless blessings of flowers, trees, and hedge work. She looked around in awe and let her arm unravel from Joffrey to wander towards the bush nearby and breath in its sweet elegance.

"This garden is more beautiful than the ones from home," she gazed into the flower before turning back to him.

"Of course it is," Joffrey said rather bluntly, "and  _this_  is your home now," his tone was oddly sharp.

It seemed whatever she said had irritated him and she quickly realized she had to start thinking before opening her mouth childishly. He had a hot temper. She knew this. It was widely known throughout Westeros that the king was charmingly beautiful but quite irritable. She had heard so many good and bad things about him, she would just have to see for herself. She knew she couldn't say stupid things. From now own she had to watch her tongue, though she was quickly learning exactly what to do. She had briefly witnessed him being cruel to some servants and his mother, but she was going to make it her goal to stay on his good side no matter what. She knew just how.

"You are undoubtedly true, your grace. Words cannot even begin to describe how grateful I am for your decision to wed me. I absolutely  _love_  my new home," she smiled coolly, her eyes meeting his rather intimately, "here with  _you_ ," her soft tone made him redden and shift uncomfortably on his feet.

Firstly, she felt madly accomplished that she could make the infamous King Joffrey blush. Second, she was relieved her words and gracious smile redeemed herself so quickly. She had to always remember to carry herself calm, collected, ladylike, and most importantly, cunning.

There was a great lion fountain and a marble bench they came across as they walked past a cluster of violets. She sat first, and as Joffrey took his spot she recognized the abundance of space between them. She could tell her flirtatious advancements were making him uncomfortable, but she knew it was because he had never encountered a girl like Margaery, _an older girl,_  and probably didn't know how to react and what to say for the first time in his life.  _He was sexually inexperienced wasn't he?_  She knew he hated not being in control of things, yet she also believed her being in control of things may be just what he needs.

She looked up through the snarl of flowers and branches that hung over the two as a passing wind let every towering, lush tree in the garden sway and moan as a cloud began to cover the sun, casting a dark shadow over the breathtaking courtyard.

"Come join me at supper this evening," Joffrey put in suddenly, his big blue eyes fixing on her's, causing her stomach to tighten once again.

She was somewhat experienced with boys but her body had never been so responsive to anyone like it was with Joffrey. He did have a temper, that's certain, but if she could learn how to read him, how to react and respond, she could have a perfect life. _'If you can learn how to work him, you can have a beautiful, luxurious life in the palace with him, and rule over the seven kingdoms together.'_  Her grandmother had advised. The alliance was very beneficial and it was fortunate the two seemed quite perfect together.

"I would be more than delighted to, your grace," she beamed at him her eyes always piercing his in a way no one else's could.

That evening, in her chambers, Margaery got ready to attend dinner.

She had been examining herself in a full-length mirror, wearing absolutely nothing. She was searching for something to make Joffrey drool over her.

Eventually, Margaery chose a seductive black dress, which was tight, lowcut and hugging her hourglass figure. Even she was shocked by how sleek and sexy she looked in this garment. This dress was far more revealing than the dress she had worn this morning when speaking to Joffrey in the garden. She could hardly contain her excitement for the king to see her. She left her hair down, pleased with way her golden chestnut waves flowed down her back, and she had done her makeup flawlessly.

At dinner, Margaery was impressed with the size of the table. At the head of the table was a great dining chair twice the size as the others, equipped with sharp metal branches, twisted and snarling over the king. His grace was lazily sprawled over it the chair, his fourth cup of wine spilling over the brim carelessly, as he told a foul joke to a lucky servant girl who, from what Margaery can tell from across the table was certainly shaken up, her weak smile and anxious, darting eyes giving it away. A blind man could see it, and Margaery knew Joffrey could tell by the intensity of his scornful laugh.

When he laughed though, Margaery somehow found herself smiling as well, inadvertently at his dimples and sharp white teeth. She allowed herself to admire his high cheekbones and perfectly sharp nose. His gleaming crown sat crooked over his golden angelic head and to Margaery, it almost looked like a halo.

She must have stared for too long, in that his intense blue gaze, slowly but suddenly drew to hers, causing her breath to catch in her throat. If Margaery was younger she perhaps would have blushed or shyly averted her eyes, but she was of eighteen years and much smarter than that. Yet was still learning how to work the king, she had grasped the basics. He lived for reactions, and from now on, she knew that hers would matter especially.

With Joffrey, Margaery had concluded that it was best to only speak when she must and let her eyes do most of the talking. She had large, almond-shaped eyes, the most dazzling blue, and they were so intense, they seemed to have a personality of their own. When their eyes locked, Margaery's smile deepened coyly, and her eyes remained piercing and cat-like. They narrowed at him and from across the table, and Margaery was deeply rewarded when she could see him redden slightly under her hypnotizing gaze.

She felt beautiful and powerful. As if no one in the world could match the effect she had on the king. Although he appeared cruel and power-crazed, when it came down to it he was still a teenage boy, and Margaery was quite attractive. She knew right now, at 15, his hormones would play a huge role in the way he acted. She could use this very much to her advantage.

"Margaeryyy," the king sang joyfully. Her name sounded gorgeous on his tongue. "Did my joke humor you?" he continued pompously, without waiting for her to answer. When he addressed her, a few faces turned her way, the little girl in her wanted to wriggle beneath their gazes, she was skilled at keeping a calm composure. Among the semi-familiar faces, there was Cersei, the king's mother. Margaery caught her seemingly intrigued green eyes for a heartbeat before returning her eyes to the king.

"I didn't quite catch it, your grace," her tone was slow and very smooth. She let her eyes caress him as she thought for a second. "You simply caught me enjoying your divine smile...your grace," she had worded it correctly but unintentionally it carried a seductive undertone as it left her mouth.

"Well," Joffrey started, his tone excited. "You're so far away, my dear, take this spot beside me," Joffrey commanded slurring the slightest bit.

She stood without hesitation, and leaving her plate behind, she approached him her hips swaying gracefully. From the edge of her vision, she noticed Cersei's expression change as she stepped up from her chair, she had noticed the young girl's beautiful body in such a revealing outfit. Margaery wasn't quite sure what this expression was but it hinted...perhaps envy?

The king gawked at her figure, getting a good look at her dress for this first time this evening. She expected him to say something to her, but instead, he turned to slightly across the table, the first person to his left, a member of the small council.

"Get out of my sight," he hissed with a hint of humor in his drunken voice, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. The man obliged instantly, and let Margaery take the spot now only slightly across from her beloved king.

"My goddess," He addressed her hungrily, narrowing his eyes as she settled in her seat and suddenly, they were eye level, and intensely close. He smelled expensive and very royal, wearing that musky cologne again which actually drove her to the edge of her seat. His blue eyes seemed different now, they appeared ravenous and wild. She thought it may be entertaining to edge him on further.

" _Your grace, you're driving me wild,_ " Margaery gushed. She thought it might be entertaining to see how far she could actually get with this drunken boy-king. Instead of blushing, Joffrey smiled at her and leaned back in his chair lazily, the alcohol making his head swim. She gazed down the table to see his mother's eyes flash wildly at her. When their eyes locked, Cersei painted on one of the falsest smiles Margaery had ever seen. She looked back to her lover with a sigh. She was not going to be pushed around by the queen, that she vowed to herself.

The king seemed to think about something for a while. His chin in his palm, he leaned over the table looking into nothingness. Margaery remained quiet, taking frequent sips of wine, admiring the priceless gems on all the many gold rings he wore on his hand. Her own expensive jewelry jingled as she drew her cup to her dark cherry colored, heart-shaped lips. Joffrey's distant eyes wandered back, to lustfully watch his betrothed take a graceful sip of wine. He stared at her mouth.

"I need you to do something," he said slowly after some time, still fixed on her lips.

"And what would that be, your grace?" She purred, eyeing the younger boy under her long lashes. She leaned closer, more forward, so he could catch a delicious glimpse of her cleavage. "I'll do  _anything_  to please you." She dared to peek over at Cersei who was now reddening with anger. Margaery didn't care.

Joffrey seemed to forget what he was saying, whereas he couldn't tear his gaze from her large, perky breast for some time, his mouth slightly agape, his cheeks reddening more intensely she than she had seen all day. She knew he would prefer this dress. When his eyes slowly came to meet hers she could see he was impressed with her, and she silently praised herself.

"I know you will, sweet girl. That is why you're going to be my queen," he hissed, leaning in closer to her, the sweet, sharp scent of wine on his breath cutting through her nose.

"I wish I was  _already_  your queen," Margaery pouted to Joffrey and his eyes flashed with wild excitement.

"Worry not, my sweet Margaery," there was a sinister edge to his tone. He then leaned in closer, so she could feel his hot breath on her neck. "We'll be wed soon. Then you will be mine forever," he hissed under his breath, emphasizing every word. He edged closer, smelling strongly of wine, and his lips grazed her ear so slightly her stomach did another flip. "Then, I can do  _whatever_  I wish to you." He growled hotly in her ear inducing the spot between her thighs to ache. His dominance seemed like it should have frightened her but it was mostly just turning her on. She felt herself growing wet with lust for him. She wasn't going to be so quick to let him know, and although she blushed, she continued to sip her wine, trying to maintain her composure.

Her eyes caught sight of the queen once again and she was surprised to see her glaring back, angrily trying to contain herself. Margaery closed her eyes, breaking the contact to toss back the rest of her wine.

Margaery set her empty goblet down on the table and turned back to Joffrey, leaning in close to him. "What do you need of me, your grace?" she inquired, bringing him back to the initial question. "Anything you ask, your wish is my command."

Joffrey seemed more than pleased with her submissive obedience. "My wish is quite simple, my goddess," he downed the last of his wine. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve then leaned in close to her again, his lips stained red from the expensive alcohol. "Meet me outside my royal chambers tomorrow night after dinner," he instructed. As the hot quiet words left his lips, tickling her ear, Margaery's stomach again filled with butterflies, as if she was a little girl once more crushing on boys and kissing them for the first time. She wondered what they would do outside his chambers. The warmth between her thighs ached for him again, forcing her to cross her legs.

Margaery turned her head back to him, her eyes always watching. He was so intense to look at and talk to and be near. Their noses were almost touching, they were so close. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. His sneering blue eyes were hauntingly beautiful to gaze into, however, they made her feel small.

"I will be there, your grace," she said coolly, struggling to not appear so flustered. His eyes looked past her.

"What are you looking at!?" His violent, demanding voice caused her to jump away from him. She was beyond relieved to find that he was addressing a servant girl, pouring their wine, who apparently may have been paying too close attention to the two kids' conversation.

"I-I-" the frightened girl scrambled to come up with a response, but she was already out of time.

"I should have you beaten and whipped through the streets, you nosey whore," he interrupted, sneering wickedly, the sick smile only twisting across his face after seeing the fear in her eyes. Margaery watched and listened intently to see what would happen.

He turned completely around to glower at a guard standing at the far end of the wall.

"Get this swine out of my fucking castle," he spat to the guard, who moved rather quickly across the room. Cersei let out a quiet laugh.

Before the girl could react the guard seized her and in one motion he threw her small body over his padded shoulder. She protested loudly, wailing for mercy.

"Shut up!" Joffrey snarled, his voice cracking pubescently. "Just take her to a prison cell, for now, I'll decide what I want done with her later."

Margaery was only slightly shocked. She had known of his infamously cruel reputation for a long time before she was to wed him, so it was no surprise to her when he behaved like this. She didn't even feel terribly bothered by it, for some reason. She knew if she was to be Joffrey's wife, she would have to adapt to his ways. She simply smiled pitifully at the foolish girl being carried out, then cast Cersei a satisfied smirk, to see the queen was chuckling under her breath, eyes pinned on her son. She hadn't noticed Margaery's attention.

Taking advantage of this, she looks back to Joffrey, who was still bristling. Before she could even open her mouth to say something to perhaps comfort him, Tyrion from the other side of the table piped up.

"Don't you think that decision was a bit hasty, my  _belligerent nephew_?" his tone was slightly mocking and he groaned the last part, which only irritated the king further.

"You dare address your king like that?" Joffrey barked over the table, bristling with rage and abruptly slamming his fists down, knocking over several goblets full of wine. "You hideous little defect."

"Funny you say that," Tyrion said sharply, a touch of humor in his voice as Joffrey took a giant gulp of his drink, " _you_  seem to be the defective one."

"Shut up!" Joffrey spat, so angry his face had gone red, his lips were stained with dark red wine, reminding Margaery of blood. "Your dishonor to your king disgusts me!" his voice came out with a boyish crack.

Tyrion only raised his eyebrows, provoking his wrath further. Everyone at the table seemed to shift in their seats uncomfortably, including Margaery.

"Mother!" Joffrey cried, piss drunk and livid, yet sounding quite juvenile for his age. He shot the beautiful queen a pleading look. "He  _cannot_  get away with this!"

"You foolish little imp," Cersei's tone was sharp and icy as she glared at her little brother, her eyes burning with hatred. "If you ever speak to the king that way again-"

"I shall have you publicly castrated then lynched!" Joffrey's voice cut in sharp, harsh and bloodthirsty as is echoed through the dining hall. "Now get out of my sight! Out! Out! OUT!"

Margaery decided Tyrion was foolish to provoke the king like that, given his temper, intoxication, and current mood. She watched disapprovingly as the little man scurried out of the room without a word, and Margaery didn't feel bad for him.  _How dare he talk to the king like that?_

"Cersei," Lord Tywin hissed under his breath, glaring at his daughter as if she had any say in her son's unpredictable behavior.

Margaery watched intently as the queen nodded to Lord Tywin then stood to address her boy. "It's getting a bit late. Don't you think, Joff?" she said in her sweetest motherly tone. "Perhaps now is a good time for bed?"

_Why did she think that would ever work?_  Margaery smiled to herself as the scowling king cast a tormenting look to his mother.

"No! I'm not a baby," he insisted coldly, his tone mutilating her gentle words.

"I wasn't implying that, my love. Though it's apparent you've had a bit too much to drink this evening," Cersei tried to reason with him but it backfired.

"A king may drink however much he pleases!" Joffrey boomed over the dining hall, unnecessarily loud, and causing Cersei to quake under his rage as he tossed back every last drop of the precious spiced liquid in his cup. His hateful eyes then landed on a pretty little servant girl who seemed to be watching in fear this whole time. "Whore! Bring me more wine!"

Lord Tywin let out a sigh. "Please excuse me, your grace," he grumbled under his breath, clearly he had enough of the current situation. He stood from his half-empty plate and began to exit the room.

The king only half smirked, very satisfied with himself, as the trembling handmaid rushed over to pour a generous amount of dark wine into his chalice. However, Cersei objected hastily.

"Father," she half-heartedly protested, but he only continued on his way.

"I have a headache," he grumbled before disappearing through the door.

Cersei sighed in defeat watching her son down his sixth cup of wine.


	2. Lion, Rose, and Dove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this is a monster of a chapter! Sorry it took so long to update, I didn't' want to rush it because it wouldn't come out the way I wanted it to. I know it kind of has a slow start, but I promise I have great plans for this, it will be very eventful and take twists and turns so just bear with me through the beginning! The next chapter won't be this long, just so I can update sooner. Let me know what you think ;3

**II**

At the crack of dawn, Margaery woke from a pleasant nights rest, to get a head start for the day. She read poetry by the window and watched the morning sun rise up over the bay, casting a golden stream over the water. These past few days in paradise had been treating her well.

After washing up and dressing, she decided to take her poetry out to the garden so she could read before breakfast in the fresh air among the flowers.

After some time of reading on a bench by a rosebush, she got bored and decided to explore the garden further. She ventured off towards a more vacant area, shaded with tall, swaying trees and picked her way through the brambles, careful to avoid the thorns. There, in the rotunda gazebo under the shade of a towering willow, she spotted a beautiful, young, red-haired girl, gazing out at the pond.

Margaery curiously approached her, and the girl looked over at the sound of her footsteps. Her icy blue eyes flashed with caution but she offered a smile.

"Hello," she greeted politely, and Margaery noticed how nice her smile was. The dress she wore seemed a bit upscale, so Margaery guessed she was either living in the Red Keep or in the upper-class district just outside the palace.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" Margaery said, allowing a warmness to cling to her tone. She was curious about this girl.

Their gaze locked for a heartbeat before the redhead averted her eyes shyly.

"I just like the serenity out here," she answered, gazing back out to the pond. "Or maybe I just like the distance from..." she looked back in the direction of the castle strangely, "all that."

Margaery thought that was a bit odd and wasn't exactly sure with what this girl meant by that. Maybe she just didn't like to be around a lot of people. Maybe she liked nature. Margaery was intrigued and wondered about her for a moment before the girl was suddenly speaking again.

"My name is Sansa Stark, from Winterfell," she curtsied politely, "And you?"

"Lady Margaery. House Tyrell of Highgarden. Pleased to meet you," Margaery curtsied as well.

"I've heard many stories about the beauty of Highgarden," Sansa beamed.

"Oh yes, it's quite breathtaking, even after living there my whole life," Margaery said. "Leaving home is always difficult, but I was willing to leave behind everything to become the queen."

Oddly enough, an aching expression seemed to cross Sansa's beautiful features as Margaery spoke the last part. She couldn't imagine why, though.

"How do you like it here? Is it everything you've hoped for?" The red-haired girl inquired. She was remarkably beautiful, quite young, and so tall Margaery had to look up to meet her wide innocent eyes. They had started to walk back towards the castle, but a different way than Margaery had initially come.

"I've always dreamed of seeing the capital, it's everything I've imagined and more," Margaery replied delightfully, as they crossed under an array white archways, woven with gnarled vines and azure flowers. A cloud uncovered the sun and a stream of light cast in fragments through the vines, illuminating the Stark girl's fair features and fiery hair.

"And life in the castle?" Sansa edged on and Margaery met her searching blue eyes while they walked.

Margaery wondered what she was getting at.  _What does she want me to tell her about? The delicious feasts, endless pampering, servants, and all the wine you can drink?_  Then it hit her.  _Joffrey._ Though, he was a hot topic for 'life in the castle,' Margaery was not about to mention him until the other girl brought him up first.

"It's just like a fairy tale, Sansa.  _An absolute dream come true,_ " Margaery sighed contently, reassuring her as she waited for the true question, while the two followed the stone path circling around the glorious lion fountain.

"And the king?" Sansa finally asked as they walked, just as Margaery anticipated she would.

"Gorgeous as ever, isn't he?" Margaery said nonchalantly, trying to coax the amused smile off her face.

Sansa gave her a baffled look before a twinge of pink cursed her cheeks. "Well, yes, I suppose..." the younger girl averted her eyes. "Though, he's got quite the temper."

"Yes, perhaps if you're stupid," Margaery said sharply, her words surprising Sansa. Then she smiled, "I have yet to be reprimanded."

"Consider yourself lucky," Sansa retorted below her breath.

The ill words spoke of Joffrey, simmered with Margaery, and she grew defensive.

"You dare speak against your king?" she challenged, impressed with how loyal the words sounded leaving her tongue. She then wondered if Sansa was speaking generally or from personal experience.

 _"No!"_  Sansa cried, looking mortified. "The king is ever so gracious and noble," she insisted.

Margaery couldn't even try to hide the amused smirk that tugged on her mouth.  _Gracious and noble._ Anyone with morals could see King Joffrey was...not exactly those things.

"I was supposed to wed the king," Sansa suddenly blurted, and Margaery halted at once to cast her a look of surprise, the thought of Joffrey being with anyone else stung her. Sansa suddenly looked deeply apologetic as if it came out wrong. "I mean, I'm glad you took my place!" she scrambled to find her words. "You'll make him much happier."

 _She's absolutely right._   _She's definitely not Joffrey's type._ Margaery thought cattily as she surveyed the younger girl, but then felt a twinge of pity as she imagined the upset that came with traveling a long, tired way to the capital only to find she's been replaced as the future queen consort.  _Couldn't be me._

 _"_ If you are no longer to wed him, then why stay in King's Landing?" Margaery questioned with genuine curiosity. They had stopped in a shaded area under a beautiful scarlet oak tree, it's leaves were vibrant as blood.

"I pray every night to go home to Winterfell. Queen Cersei tells me they are arranging for me to marry someone else. Perhaps a different member of the royal family," Sansa let out a pained sigh.

Margaery was starting to feel genuine sympathy for this girl. She could see how it pained her to be here in the south. But there was nothing more to do than keep moving forward.

"You must not worry, sweet girl. You can have a luxurious life here in the capital, you must be thoughtful and use your resources wisely," Margaery advised her, "We'll be seeing each other plenty, perhaps we can even be friends."

Sansa's blue eyes glistened delightfully at the idea. "I would love that."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the upstairs corridors, bright with the early daylight, Cersei made her way to the royal chambers, the most heavily guarded wing of the Red Keep. Upon entering the king's private quarters, she found her son still sound asleep.

 _What a perfect little angel,_  she smiled at her undoubtedly favorite child, who was peacefully tucked under the covers. Rays of light bled through the artistic, iron window, catching gold speckles of dust floating through the room, which glowed like amber.

Her long golden locks shimmered, as she ducked under the canopy adorned on his massive, royal bed, and sat in the shadows like a lioness, on the edge of the duvet, overlooking her cub.

"Rise and shine, my love," Cersei murmured as she ran a loving hand down the side of his face, his skin was warm and reddened with heavy sleep.

Joffrey's only response was an irritated groan. He pulled the silk duvet over his head.

"You must get up, Joff," Cersei's pleading tone was doing nothing but further provoking him. "Your presence is required at the small council meeting after breakfast."

"So go on my behalf!" Joffrey snapped, ripping the blanket from his head. She could make out his remarkable, youthful features and bedhead under the thick shaded canopy.

Cersei let out an exasperated sigh,  _he's going to be in a bad mood all day._ Her impatience was beginning to gnaw at her. "It is  _your_  duty as the king, to attend," she insisted.

"I feel ghastly," Joff moaned as he tried to sit up, clutching his head.

"Just as I anticipated. You drank far too much last night," she said evidently. She recalled the night before when she watched helplessly as he grew more belligerent by the hour, downing one cup after another of strong, dark wine. "Come, my dear. I'll run you a bath.

She then tugged open the dark velvet curtains defending his bed so the light could flood in. She heard him groan again behind her and flop back into the blankets, as she crossed the room to poke her head into the hallway and command one of the guards that always remained planted beside Joffrey's door.

"Send for hot, herbal tea to the king's private quarters, now. Tell them it's urgent," she instructed firmly, then shut the door behind her.

"Up, Joffrey," said Cersei, casting an impatient glare over her shoulder at him, as she minced over to his unnecessarily enormous, walk-in wardrobe.

She came back with a lavish black garment, trimmed with gold, and his bathrobe of the finest mulberry silk.

After getting the robe on, Joffrey followed his mother into his royal master bathroom.

Like most other of the other rooms, it was gold and decorated with expensive vases, angelic armor, swords, and shields hanging on the walls, and a beautiful view from every window, no matter where you were in the royal wing. There was a large stained glass window, a beautiful, religious, yet violent depiction, following an alignment of ornate stone carved windows adorning most of the walls in the Red Keep. Salted wind from the bay frequently carried in, slipping through the cracks, the most refreshing feeling on a hot summer's day.

Two handmaids enter the room with boiling water, towels, and fine soap. Joffrey waited with obvious impatience as the servants removed the lids from the heavy pots and hot steam poured out, diffusing into the air. They filled the round tub of solid gold to the very brink with the scalding water, and when they were finished, Cersei demanded they leave at once.

Joffrey stripped completely bare, carelessly dropping his robe to the floor sending Cersei's gaze straight out the window, to fix on the glittering bay. She heard him hiss through clenched teeth as he lowered, himself into the hot, seething water.

"Too hot for you?" she turned back to face him, her gaze daring to sweep over his toned shoulders and chest, poking out of the water.  _His body is the spitting image of Jaime's,_ _at this age,_  she improperly thought, prompting distant teenage memories from the depths of her subconscious.

There was a sudden knock on the door, causing Joffrey to jump and pulling Cersei from her unsettling thoughts.

"Herbal tea for his grace," the familiar muffled voice of a handmaid called from behind the door.

Cersei answered it, and returned, to perch on the edge of the tub clutching the fine china.

"I hate herbal tea," Joffrey complained. "And it's too hot in here."

"You want to feel better, do you not?" urged Cersei, as she set down the china teacup on the golden rim of the tub. She dipped her fingers to test the water, only to find it was so hot it stung her skin, even just for that brief moment.

He glared at her through the steam, his cheeks had significantly reddened from the hot water, somehow reminding her of his younger, childhood days. It was a look that carried an innocent, boyish glow, and it just tugged on the queen's heart.

"I'm sorry, Joff-"

"It's fine," he scoffed before she could continue, his cold voice snapping her back to reality.

"Are you aware of what we plan to discuss at the meeting today?" She began.

"No. Enlighten me.  _Please_ ," he sneered.

"We are discussing the matters regarding your wedding, and Sansa Stark," she explained, noticing the flash of angst cross Joff's face, "and what exactly shall be done with the girl at this time.

"What do you mean _'done with her'_?" Joffrey's tone was strained and high.

"Well, I told her that we are arranging for her to marry someone else but perhaps we could send her back to Winterfell?" the queen regent suggested, but the sudden look of terror on her son's face implied that was out of the question.

"Have you gone mad, woman?!" he bristled. "Her father was a horrible traitor who is now thankfully dead. _No one_  is left for her. She's my prisoner," his tone was diabolical, yet still juvenile at the same time.

"We cannot simply just hold her as a prisoner, it's unlawful," Cersei objected.

"Yes, I am aware," he groaned.

"Then what do you suggest we do with her?" She challenged.

"I haven't decided yet. Regardless, I want her here in King's Landing, she could be useful."

 _Useful? How could she possibly be any use to you? Haven't you tortured the poor girl enough?_ Cersei furrowed her brows as she fiddled with a small vile of vanilla bath oil. She finally popped the cork out, pouring the lavish soap into the tub. The sweet rich aroma of vanilla and nutmeg pleasantly filled the steamy air and cut through her nostrils.

"Hmm," Joffrey stared at her in thought, his striking blue eyes reminding her of an angel. She assessed his superior Lannister facial features, and found herself silently thanking the gods for was a blessing with such a perfect, golden child.

"Perhaps she could serve as a handmaid in the meantime? Just while I'm deciding what to do with her," he suggested.

"Oh, Joff, now that's just cruel," although Cersei's words seemed to disagree, her dark smile did not.

"She should consider herself lucky I haven't had her  _killed_  yet," he glowered.

"Yes, but a handmaid? The girl was to be a queen only days ago."

"I don't care! She will be my servant and if she wants to live, there will be no other way!" Joffrey declared, suddenly fastened to this hasty idea.

Cersei merely smirked at his words, praying to the gods for this go over smoothly with the small council.

"As you wish my love," Cersei's permitting tone did little to please him, as he scoffed again, sarcastically. She continued anyway. "It seemed as though just days ago you were quite fond of her."

"No! You're smarter than this," his edgy tone seized her breath. "I wasn't fond of her at all. In fact, she was rather obnoxious," rasped Joffrey, "I was purely fond of having a bride."

Part of Cersei already knew this and she realized it as the words drew from his tongue. But then again, he said she was 'useful.' Sometimes, she had no idea what was going through his head. She had an odd feeling he was up to something.

She recognized he seemed much happier these past few days with his new betrothed.  _But why shouldn't he? Margaery was very beautiful and in a different way than Sansa. She was older, more developed._  Cersei wasn't going to pretend she didn't notice the perfect body on her son's new queen. She was, however, going to pretend she wasn't envious of the youth and beauty the Highgarden girl carried, but  _most importantly_  the attention she gained from Joffrey.

It drove Cersei mad, solely by the fact that another woman possessed such power over her boy, using her body as a weapon and his sexual inexperience to her advantage. Yes, it ate away at her, but she was forced to accept it. There was no other way. He was growing up and there wasn't a single thing she could do to stop it. She fretted over this day to come, how it haunted her for such a long time, and finally, it had arrived. Just like many mothers before she was struggling to give her son away to another woman, however, Cersei had such an inseparable bond with her boy, her prized possession, her perfect, golden little lion cub that could do no wrong, she found it nearly impossible to let him go. However, she deeply wanted him to be happy, which he had been since the establishment of his engagement. She had to encourage his love for her, in order to be a good mother,  _she must_ , and more importantly in order to keep a pristine relationship with Joffrey, She would rule as the queen regent while Margaery ruled with the king as the queen consort. Even if she wasn't very fond of this girl she must pretend to be.

Joffrey suddenly snatched up the china teacup, drawing Cersei from her deep thought.

He gingerly took a sip of the steaming tea, and she wondered if between the hot bath and hot tea it might be too much for him.

"How is it?" she searched his eyes, hoping for satisfaction, but expecting displeasure, knowing her son well.

"S'alright," he said half-heartedly with a wince, setting it back down to the plate.

Cersei's thoughts drew back to Sansa when suddenly a brilliant idea crossed her mind. Instead of being a handmaid, perhaps Sansa could be a lady-in-waiting and attend Lady Margaery. If Joffrey wasn't going to let the little dove fly home, at least give her a job that wasn't completely degrading. She would serve as a court lady, and perhaps she might smile for once. Cersei wanted to discuss this with Joffrey, but she was highly unsure of how he would react. She decided to ponder the decision for a few days and speak with an adviser about it before addressing the king on the issue.

Suddenly there was another knock on the door, much softer this time. "Bath assistance?" a female's muffled voice sounded from behind the steel door.

"No," Cersei groaned.

"Yes!" Joffrey bleated, sending his mother an impatient glare.

The king's words were smartly obeyed, as the young servant girl entered the room, carrying a pile of cloth and towels.

Cersei refrained from rolling her eyes as the girl settled on the edge of the tub, to douse a small black cloth with soap.

"May I, your grace?" she asked Joffrey politely.

He nodded and Cersei watched protectively, through piercing green eyes and as the girl began to gently scrub the king's right arm, she seemed to tremble under the queen's deathly glare.

"Oh," something seemed to cross Joffrey's mind, his striking blue eyes met his mother's with sudden interest. "I haven't forgotten the events of last night. I want the hideous, little imp punished at once."

"What do you suggest?" Cersei agreed promptly, casting another scornful glare at the handmaid massaging her son's shoulders with soap.

Joffrey sighed with pleasure, as the girl seemed to press on a tense area of muscle. "I'll think of something." His eyes fluttered shut and leaned further back into her palms.

"We are discussing your wedding ceremony at the small council meeting after breakfast, Joff," she reminded him of where his thoughts should be. "Do you have any ideas for the wedding? Shall it be traditional?"

His big blue eye opened with glowing interest as she mentioned his wedding. "It will be big," he vowed, quite vaguely, gazing out the window at the sparkling Blackwater Bay thoughtfully, as the handmaid gently brushed his chest with the hot cloth.

Cersei imagined the glorious roar of millions, from all over Westeros come to see the king of the seven kingdoms, her little cub, wed a queen. She had to admit it was going to be too surreal.

When she broke from her daze, she noticed the servant girl's hand traveling down his abdomen with a cloth. Rage seethed below her surface as this  _dirty, filthy whore_  touched her boy, but instead of exploding, she simply cast Joffrey an unsettled glare, who hardly did anything to react. He didn't seem to mind either of one of the women, as he was still in his own daydream, gazing out at the bay.

As the servant's fingers crept lower, Cersei couldn't tolerate it.

"That's enough," her tone was sharp as a blade.

The young handmaid jumped away from the king as if he was scalding hot. Her wide, apologetic gaze met the queen regent.

"Your grace, I-"

"You are dismissed," the queen's fierce, feline eyes glistened like chrysoberyl gems.

She watched as the girl clambered to her feet, clumsily, and rushed out the door without another word.

"What is in the seven hells is wrong with you, woman?" Joffrey demanded, his sounding very much like his late father, King Robert.

"I didn't want that filthy whore to touch you," Cersei admitted, her gaze still piercing.

"You are ridiculous," jeered Joffrey, rolling his eyes, then sank his head back into the water to wet his blonde hair.

Cersei considered whether she was actually being absurd or not.

"I suppose you'll explode at my wedding ceremony as well when I kiss my queen?"

Cersei reddened at his words with shame, it occurred to her that perhaps she was being overbearingly protective.

Suddenly he was rising out of the water, the steam radiating of his glistening skin.

"Of course not," she said, casting her gaze away as she passed him his towel.

"Hm."

"In fact, I'm quite excited to see an heir from the two of you," Cersei said, turning back once he was in his silk bathrobe.

Joffrey raised his eyebrows, followed a smug, egotistical smirk, "Good."

She smiled back falsely, and she didn't want to admit it but she knew, deep down, a part of her actually did want this.

* * *

As the sun began to melt along the horizon, Margaery made her way down the deep amber, glowing halls on her way to dine with the royal family. This evening, she wore a long drape of fine blue silk, that flowed in streams behind her. The fabric wrapped around her perfectly, accentuating her curves and exposing her fair skin in all the right places.

She was trembling with excitement as she nearly reached the dining hall, when suddenly she spotted Sansa trudging ahead, carrying what looked to be a stack of clothing.

"Lady Sansa," Margaery called, the sound of her delicate voice echoed down the ornate hall.

The Stark girl stopped by a wall torch and glanced over her shoulder, giving a look of despair.

"Sansa," Margaery said again, starting towards her. "What's the matter? Is everything alright?"

"No!" Sansa cried, whirling around, startling her. "Everything is terrible and it just keeps getting worse." Her cerulean eyes glistened with tears, tugging on Margaery's heart.

She didn't quite know how to react. She frowned at the poor girl, trying to make sense of what possibly could have happened.

Past Sansa, was a beautiful view of the setting sun, overlooking the luxurious city. The skies were vibrant shades of purple, pink, and orange blurring together in harmony. The golden view of paradise seemed all too incongruous when her gaze returned to Sansa, the innocent little lamb on the verge of falling apart. This perfect city was tearing her apart, limb from limb.  _You must be a strong Sansa. It's the only way to survive this game of thrones._

Margaery fixed on the folded clothes Sansa clutched as she sobbed, noticing the apron at the top of the rumbled stack.

"What are these clothes for, Sansa?" Margaery inquired, touching her arm gently, in an attempt to comfort her.

"They've made me a servant!" she spluttered miserably, then burst into a flurry of tears.

"What?" Margaery rasped, confusion and sympathy twisting through her. For a split moment, she thought she may have misheard Sansa. _How could this happen? Just earlier this morning the girl was talking of arrangments to marry another member of the royal family. "_ I-I don't understand. How could this be?"

"They do whatever they want! They don't know of sympathy, and they have never played by the rules!" Sansa exclaimed, trembling with tears and upset.

"Lower your voice," Margaery hissed, seizing the girl's wrist, leading her further down the corridor into the shadows. Sansa's cries abruptly ceased and she met the older girl's glare with helpless eyes. "Your words are treasonous. You want to live, do you not?"

"I do! I want to live," she wailed.

"Sansa, please collect yourself," Margaery urged gently as she released her, her patience never wearing thin with Sansa's emotional storm. "You cannot say such things. We are in the Red Keep.  _The walls have ears."_

This seemed to cool Sansa down, as she nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes with the long velvet sleeve of her dress.

"Margaery please," She quivered once she finally caught her breath, the tears had finally ceased, "You can't let them do this!" her voice was still desperate and pained.

The poor girl looked so upset, Margaery made a mental note not to fall out of line. One wrong move could change everything. There was nothing she could do to help, she had no control over the king, nor his mother's decisions.

"It's not in my hands, Sansa. You must understand. I would help you if I could," Margaery insisted but Sansa was determined.

"Please, my lady," she begged. "Can't you speak to the king about it? You have a way with words."

Margaery sighed, considering the trouble she might get herself into if she were to challenge her betrothed's decision. But Sansa's imploring sapphire eyes ate away at her.

"I will think about it," She agreed halfheartedly and Sansa's face gleamed with delight, but Margaery spoke quickly before she could get too excited. " _But_  I must go now or I will be late. We can speak about this later."

"Thank you so much, Lady Margaery!" Sansa cried gratefully, suddenly her velvet arms were around her, hugging her tightly. She smelled like an actual rose. "I am forever in your debt."

 _It's good to have a friend here,_  Margaery thought, hugging her back, embracing the distant feeling of someone's arms around her. She hadn't felt such contact since she lived in Highgarden with her old friends and immediate family.

"I can't make any promises," Margaery replied, they stayed hugging for a few long heartbeats before stepping away.

"Where are you off to this evening, anyway?" Sansa asked as Margaery started off down the hall.

"Dinner," she retorted whirling back around, smiling slyly as she continued, "with the king," then she was off, followed by a wave of flowing blue silk and chestnut curls.

What Margaery didn't see what the somber, longing gaze Sansa cast after her.

There was a fit of female laughter, echoing down the hall, upon Margaery's arrival to the dining room. She was surprised to see the dining table more vacant than the night before. The only people seated, around the feast were, a very bored Prince Tommen, two court ladies intently listening to and fussing over Ser Jaime who was telling a gruesome battle story, and her beloved King Joffrey of course, who sat slumped back as usual, wine lazily rolling in his hand, listening to his uncle's story with dubious amusement. The fireplace was lit and the flames danced and crackled, casting shadows on the dark evening walls. The air was cursed with a layer of smoke from the pipe that hung from Jaime's mouth.

She stopped before the table, and everyone looked over at her at the same time. She didn't cower. She didn't even think about it.

"You've finally arrived, my lady," Joffrey spoke first, his high voice always excited when addressing her. His hungry eyes met Margaery's, and it amazed her how easily just a certain look from him made her core ache.

"Take a seat," Joffrey motioned to the empty chair beside him, his diamond rings glittering in the firelight.

Margaery obeyed without hesitation, as Jaime continued his story, she settled into the musky haze of cologne and pipesmoke, beside Joffrey, and suddenly they were very close. Her heart seemed to beat faster as he fixed on her, assessing her beauty. He looked delicious, and she found herself longing to be intimate with him, imagining the moment they finally got to kiss, and she wondered what he would taste like.

She wondered what exactly it was that had her so addicted to him. Perhaps it was his endless power and dominance that was so attractive, or perhaps it was the obscene amount of money. Or maybe it was his angelic features or expensive scent. It may be all these things, or it may be none of these things at all. Margaery felt deep down, the truth may be, that it was the devil in him that made him so irresistible. His arrogant smirk and cruel words were somehow feeding into the attraction. It was as if she was under his spell, perhaps. _How could he be so bad, that he's good?_  She asked herself a million times. Oh, how he had glamorized the idea of evil.

"You look well this evening," His eyes were like electric as they drew to hers at once, and she felt her stomach flutter.

At this time, Margaery thought back to all the boys in Highgarden who had showered her with compliments and gifted her flowers and sweets. She recalled their strong muscles and beautiful smiles, and the way the would go on to tell her all the impossible things they would do for her. She would blush, thank them, maybe laugh a bit, but not a single one of them compared to the way Joffrey made her feel. Her king would say some nice things sometimes, but the thing about him that stuck with her was the way he would look at her. His gaze was powerful and made her feel small and a bit helpless, but she was actually addicted to this feeling. It was quite a change for once. Margaery had always been a clever one, she had a way with words, and people didn't scare her often. She had a sharp tongue and a quick mind, and it seemed that she could always think of something to say. Since she could remember, she had felt naturally superior in every conversation _—_ except when talking to Joffrey. It was obvious, with him, she had to choose her words wisely, and she loved a challenge. She had never felt this kind of energy from anyone and it struck her. She was obsessed with this feeling and she was never going to give it up. She was determined to keep him satisfied with her, no matter what.

"You're quite tempting, yourself, your grace," Margaery boldly decided to say, lowering her voice to a quiet, tender tone, and just by the expression change on his face, she could tell that's not what he was expecting her to say at all. She loved throwing him off.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, unable to react.

"Thank you," he finally mumbled, blush taunting his cheeks.

It was apparent that no other girl had talked to him this way before, and Margaery was having quite some fun with this. It was easy to forget his age, given the way he carried himself, but he was still a boy, after all.

"And I sent my blade straight through his heart!" Jaime bellowed, suddenly drawing the two from this intimacy, "and  _twisted-"_ Jaime made exaggerated, drunken twisting motions for the two court ladies that were listening so intently. "When I drew my sword out, he fell to his knees, the life gushing out of him, from the hole in his chest plate!"

"Oh, how strong and powerful you are, Ser Jaime," one of the girls, the blonde one, swooned over him, and Margaery exchanged a glance with Joffrey.

"Oh, sweet Lady Lucinda," The king addressed her with a mocking tone.

She looked over, her blue eyes were big and doe-like, "Yes, your grace?"

"You and  _—_ what's your name?" he blinked at the other one, some impatience haunting his tone.

"Lady Blair, your grace," said the girl with long black hair.

"How could you forget?" Jaime chimed in, winking at her, "she's an absolute doll."

The girl flushed scarlet, but she didn't say anything.

"Lady Lucinda and Lady Blair are your personal court ladies," Joffrey conveyed to Margaery. "They will attend your needs and keep you company when I'm not around."

Margaery nodded at them with a polite smile, showing her pretty white teeth. "Thank you, your grace."

"Oh, it will be so much fun, my lady!" Lucinda squealed, her jewelry jingled as she clapped excitedly. "We'll exchange gossip, and I'll brush your hair."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it," Margaery replied, her demeanor so relaxed and cool compared to the other girl. She was good at making friends and liked to be social. She was very popular back in Highgarden, even before becoming their queen.

When Jaime began pompously rambling on again about his strength and skills, to the two court ladies, Joffrey turned to Margaery with a questionable smirk, his dimples seizing her heart.

"Wine, my lady?" He asked too sweetly. The air suddenly shifting between them, the hot flames casting shadows grew more pronounced, they seemed to burn her heart. The clean, rich scent of his cologne reminded her of smoky wood and fresh leather, and it grew stronger suddenly, and she realized he had gotten closer to her.

"I am a bit thirsty," she replied suggestively, " _your grace_."

His blue eyes blinked in response, seeming to consider her words for a moment, as a coy smile tugged on her the corner of her mouth.

"Wine at once for my queen!" He was suddenly shouting down the table at a servant, causing not only Margaery to jump in her seat, but waking up the little prince, who had fallen asleep in his dinner.

One servant went to assist Tommen off to bed, while the other hurried over with a golden jug and filled Margaery's chalice up with wine. She brought the goblet to her lips, inhaling the bitter, sharp scent before taking a sip.

Joffrey seemed uninterested with his wine, not at all like the night before. Instead, his focus was on Margaery. She noticed the flicker of interest in his eyes when he watched her eyes, and her mouth, and the way she moved. When he thought she wasn't looking she would catch his eyes on her bust. Her stomach fluttered just imagining the things that might be going through his mind. She couldn't wait to show him what she could do.

Jaime had brought the two women to the far end of the room to show them a shelf of fine, aged wine.  _Why doesn't he just take them back to his room already?_

"Margaery," Joffrey suddenly said in a hushed tone, after some silence between them. Her eyes returned to him, watching his sharp teeth as he spoke. "Do you remember what we talked about last night?" there was frantic excitement in his lowered voice that reminded her of his age. She thought back to last night, and excitement of her own stirred in her stomach when she recalled their plans to meet by his chambers.

"Yes, my king," her bright eyes glistened in the firelight.

"I've thought about it and changed my mind," when he said this, her heart sank as the disappointment twisted through her. "There are too many guards in the private royal wing. We must meet in the garden."

Relief washed over her in a colossal wave, and the life seemed to spring back into her eyes. "Smart thinking, your grace," she fawned.

"Meet me just before midnight. At the lion statue," he instructed, his voice eager and his eyes wide as if he had been waiting to speak of this since she walked in. "Tell no one you are meeting me."

"I'll be there, your grace," she said in a sweet tone, hardly above a whisper. Her chin was in her palm and she leaned over the table, gazing slightly upwards, into his eyes, under the thick dark wing of her lashes.

"Joffrey," he said, taking her by surprise. "I want you to call me Joffrey."

A sense of accomplishment stole through her, but she remained relaxed, offering a grateful smile.

"Alright, Joffrey," she said in her usual, sensual way. Butterflies stirred in her stomach at the sound of her addressing him by his first name.  _It feels so intimate,_  she thought, allowing her hand to slide over the table to make contact with him.

It was like electric when her dainty fingers gently brushed the expensive silk of his sleeve, caressing his arm tenderly. Though his eyes never left hers, he tensed under her unfamiliar touch, but she continued anyhow, and he didn't seem entirely bothered by it.

Just as he was beginning to get comfortable with the feeling of her fingers rubbing his arm, she leaned in, closer, to make sure he could smell her floral perfume, and maybe even a glimpse down her dress, murmuring, "I can't wait to be alone with you,  _Joffrey_ ," her voice soft and risqué.

This made him smile, with excitement and...something else.  _What is that expression?_ She expected him to blush, but this time, there was a ravenous look in his eyes that admittedly frightened her a bit. However, this fear somewhat faded and her confidence relatively returned when she reassured herself that she is  _the_ queen (or will be), and she can handle anything. She told herself she shouldn't be intimated by such a younger boy, even if he was the king, but something about the way he smiled at her, the way his eyes flashed wildly, stuck with her the rest of dinner and even on the way back to her own chambers.

* * *

Late at night, when the castle was quiet and dark, with the only light being the dim flickering wall lanterns' flame, Margaery stole through the corridors, managing to remain undetected by the patrolling guards. Even if she were to be caught, she had a story she had decided on.  _I was just going to take a walk in the garden and get some fresh air._

She had changed into a different dress, this one a simple, yet elegant lace, flowing white dress, making her look so angelic she could have been an apparition. She moved through the hallways quietly before slipping through the door, without making a sound.

Margaery descended down the palace steps into the twilight and was overwhelmed by the beauty of the blooming garden in the moonlight. The night was black as ink, the last of the sun had long melted away, beckoning the endless scatter of stars to dance in clusters and streaks.

 _What a romantic_   _night,_ she thought, as she headed down the winding path, gazing up at the full moon against the nightfall. She followed the twisted rose thickets and vines, moving in a flow of milk-white like a spirit in the gloom.

Her gracious flow came to a halt when the grand lion statue came into view, her stomach fluttering with nervous excitement. This was the only place that she had ever been alone with him. There remarkable energy in this air, it held some kind of magic aura.

She reached the fountain and took a seat on the ledge to wait for the king. Her gaze wandered back to the castle which seemed to be more distant than it actually was. Looking at it from afar truly made her appreciate her the perfect life she had been blessed with. It all seemed too good to be true. About twenty paces away, under the scarlet oak, Joffrey appeared from around the other side of some shrubbery, his black garb dark as midnight.

Margaery got to her feet and started after him, her skirts pooling around her like a white iris. Excitement stirred through her;  _I have to touch him,_ she thought with strange urgency, fixing on his shadowy figure. When they finally met, she squeezed his cold hands gently.

He was perfect under the nightfall, the moon and stars making his platinum hair gleam like polished ivory. He smelled rich and clean, of expensive soap and wine.  _He always looks so good,_ she tried not to swoon over the young, blonde king but failed miserably when he brought her dainty hand to his meet soft lips, and honored her with a charming kiss, sending stomach into a whirl.

A blush touched not only her cheeks, but his too, and it occurred to her that this may be one of the first times he's tried that on a girl.

"Are you well?" he spoke first, his voice was serious.

"I am now," she spoke warmly against his tone, beaming at him, confident she was ravishing under the starlight.

She realized they were still holding hands, when he squeezed her gently, sending her stomach into a flurry. Even just the minor contact had gotten her wound up, and she craved more intimacy between them, so she decided to move their conversation along, in hopes she might receive what she's looking for.

"I've longed for your touch, my king," she said, eyeing Joffrey under her lashes.

"You think of me often?" his tone jumped with excitement, and she met his striking eyes. They seemed to glow in the dark.

"All day, my love. I even dream of you in the night," she gushed.

"What of me?" He edged on, thirsty for more.

Margaery held onto his question for a teasing moment, her focus was still on his hands.

"Your skin is so soft," she said, debatably off topic.

"My skin?" his voice was anxious.

She didn't give him time to think about it.

"You want to know the things I think of you, Joffrey?" she continued, adoring his name on her tongue. "Mostly I dream of the many things I would do to please you."

He stared at her, unable to react, it seemed he just listened, his eyes flickering interest, yet his mouth remained tight line.

She wasn't sure why she was telling him this. However, after revealing a small bit to him, she suddenly found herself excited to confess more. Although he only displayed uncertainty, she knew he wanted to hear these things.

"A lot of times, I find myself imaging what it would be like to kiss you," admitted Margaery, continuing when her courage was at its peak. She had him all jumbled at this point. She could see in his eyes, he was trying to analyze her words but she spitting out compliments too quickly.

He stared at her for quite some time, his eyes seemed to grow darker and he took a step closer, his rich scent intensifying.

They had never been so close, with their faces only inches apart, Joffrey suddenly seemed to slip between her fingers, stealing the dominance in the blink of an eye.

His warm arm, caught her by surprise, lacing around her waist, squeezing her against him. The tension was burning her at this point.

"And what do you think it would be like to kiss me?" He queried in a low growl, his breath hot with every word.

_Let's find out._

It seemed they had the same idea because, all too quickly, he closed the distance between their mouths, and the feeling of his soft, warm lips overtook her. She had never experienced a feeling of such ecstasy.  _Rapture tastes so sweet._

The feeling of his lips melted her, effortlessly. The kiss was not soft and lips did not brush together gently at first, unsure, as young teens might. They were both eager to finally snap the tight string of sexual tension between them. She could feel the hunger in his mouth as he kissed her. She had longed to taste him for some time, so with her heart beating fast, she parted her sweet, red lips for him, allowing him to slip his warm, sacred tongue into her mouth. The spot between her thighs stirred hotly with need in response to him squeezing her hips tightly, gripping her with his fingers. She could feel the dominance and passion seeth below his pounding chest and seize her.

"Joffrey," she gasped hotly into his mouth, and his name was so arousing to say, her core throbbed with lust. This encouraged him to grow rougher with her, knowing now what she was comfortable with.

His hands roughly gripped her round ass, squeezing her until she gasped, her tongue still in his hot mouth.  _I must have more of him now,_ was the only thirsty thought controlling her, but suddenly she realized she shouldn't get too carried away, she had to be smart and allow him to take the lead. He liked to be in control. And she was going to let him be,  _for now._

She was slammed up against a nearby tree, and for a brief moment, as they moved, she could make out his hallowed, fair features that glowed like white quartz in the moonlight. He gathered her wrists in his tight grip, pinning them over her head, against the trunk. She felt so vulnerable and delicate beneath his powerful grip, and at times like this Margaery feels that age is just a number. It was so hot, the way he was kissing her, with such force; the feeling of his soft, warm, wet lips grazing down her jaw and throat, triggering goosebumps to pucker across her sensitive skin. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, and she leaned her head back to look up through the branches at the stars with dreamy eyes, her mind dazed as the intense feeling of lust overtook her body in unbeatable waves.

"Look at me," he breathed hotly against her neck, the feeling sending chills through her body. Her heart was racing, and her eyes glittered like diamonds in the moon's luminance, as they fluttered back his meet his starved gaze.

His beauty never failed to astound her. She took in his sharp youthful features, hardly visible in nightfall but still so breathtaking. The branches above cast dark shadows over his fair complexion, feeding his ominous, sinister identity, however, with a gentle breeze, the tree swayed, and fragments of moonbeams shimmered through the bowing, gnarled branches, revealing his angelic, pure appearance. A blur of moonlight flickered in his haunting blue eyes, so flawless and hypnotizing. He was a fallen angel.

 _"Do you like it rough my, sweet Margaery,"_ suddenly he was growling in her ear, the tingling feeling somehow reaching the small of her back.

Before she could answer, he snatched her jaw in a tight grip and was leaning into her mouth again, pushing her harder against the tree. The bark was rough and uncomfortable and scraped the exposed skin of her shoulders, but she didn't care. Instead, she focused on the feeling of his warm, clean body rubbing against her in all the right spots, and the bitter, distinct taste of wine, heavy on his greedy tongue, as it moved over her's. She anticipated he couldn't wait to get his hands on her as well.

Joffrey let go of her jaw to seize her thigh, with a firm, possessive grip, fueling the craving, wanting feeling in her stomach that was driving her mad. The aching sensation between her thighs was growing unbearable, and she moaned into his mouth as his fingers inched closer to her sweet spot. She had to feel him there, she  _needed_ him to fill her throbbing core. Her lust took control of her, and she pressed her hips against him for release, allowing some pressure against her crotch.

As she leaning all her weight into Joffrey's front, she could feel a taunting hardness stirring beneath his garment. Margaery finally got a taste of the sweet release she desired. A faint, boyish gasp escaped his lips at the sudden contact. For some reason, this seemed to irritate him, she could tell, as he abruptly, he drove her harder against the tree, gripping her wrists with frenzied strength.

"I'm going to fuck you bloody," he hissed violently in her ear, and she fought the urge to shudder under his fiendish tone.

"Do it," Margaery challenged boldly, daring to maintain his icy gaze.

His mouth slammed into her again, hungrily kissing her, and she gasped the sudden sharp pain of him biting her bottom lip. His sharp teeth must have broken through her flesh because at that moment she started to taste the unmistakable coppery tang of blood.

She wanted Joffrey to fuck her so badly, but a small voice in her head reminded her the bride of a king  _must_ be virgin. _It shouldn't matter if it was he, who had deflowered me, should it? No of course not, but those are the rules. Maybe we could do it and say we didn't? It would be easy to keep a secret, and it would be fun to sneak around together before the wedding._

Suddenly, in the black of nightfall, she spotted a flaming torch, approaching from hardly a distance, and a sense of panic fled through her. It must have shown on her face because Joffrey turned to see what she was gaping at. He peered into the dark and she gripped his arm nervously.

"Joffrey," she breathed, and he quickly unraveled from her.

"It's a guard," he whispered with irritation. "I'll handle this, you go back to your chambers."

She was reluctant to leave him, her feet seemed unwilling to move. She stared into his blue eyes for just a few more heartbeats. This had been such a magical, intimate night, she was pained to see it come to such an abrupt end.

Hesitantly she tore herself from her spot, and stole off into the garden, back towards her chambers. Even though she wanted to, she didn't look back. Instead, she picked her way through the maze of rose thickets, still dizzy with lust, following the seemingly endless path, winding through the garden.

As she neared the castle, she gazed up at the romantic moon one last time, the taste of blood still on her lip made her heart flutter as the thought of him crossed her mind.


	3. Sinful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tries to make a 3-4k chapter* *makes a 7k chapter* sorry lmao! I thought it would be much shorter :) Next chapter soon <3

**III**

It was an absurdly hot morning, the sun seemed to beat down on the south. Margaery and her court ladies sat in a whitewashed tea house at the far end of the castle courtyard, watching the swans glide over the crystal pond.

Apparently, Margaery had a lot of court ladies she didn't even realize were apparent. Not only Lucinda, and Blair sat with her, but three other new girls, all with long, extravagant, aristocratic names Margaery didn't remember. All perfect blue blood noblewomen. These girls were brats, Margaery knew, but she considered maybe she was too being present with the wealthy life of royalty most of her years.

So, as the morning sun rose, the girls chatted and laughed and sipped English breakfast tea over the continuous hum of cicadas.

"Do you want to know the most shocking thing?" One of the newer girls said, not to anyone in particular, as she reached over the porcelain kettle for the sugar. The other girls turned to look at her, all of there danging earrings glittering marvelously. "Mirabelle Winters told me, just the other evening, that Adelaide the Fair cheated on her husband and slept with Clifton, one of the little squires!"

Margaery wanted to roll her eyes at the ridiculous unfamiliar names but when the other girls giggled, she found herself smiling among them, feeling urged to conform.

"Mirabelle isn't even a credible source. Shes' a liar and a whore," the girl with the short blonde hair said darkly. "I heard she slept with Adelaide's brother  _and_  her husband!"

Margaery listened intently to the gossip as she sipped her English tea.  _These girls were nothing but drama. It was interesting, yes, but still drama._ She only imaged the horror if one of these girls discovered what she had been up to just the other night.

A warm breeze passed causing the branches above to bow and creak, the rows of violets gently swayed.

"Lady Margaery," Lucinda addressed her suddenly, as she set down her china teacup with a clink, "are you excited to be the queen? The wedding is very soon, is it not?" her eyes were oddly soothing, blue as the pond just over there.

"Oh yes, I'm counting down the days," Margaery said, it was only her voice that was speaking, and all the brats at the table were looking at her. "It's just a moon away."

To her surprise, most of the girls gasped and squealed with enthusiasm.

"Wow, have you seen your dress?" said a girl with brown curls and a big frilly ribbon, as she sliced her teacake. Margaery didn't have time to reply because another girl jerked in, seizing her attention.

"How are you wearing your hair? Maybe it should be down?"

"The wedding should be right on the bay!"

"I wish I was getting married."

"You're so lucky!"

Margaery couldn't keep up with all these girls exclaiming their ideas to her at once.

"You're going to be queen! Queen Margaery Baratheon! Can you imagine?" Lucinda said and this comment actually stuck with her.

 _Queen Margaery Baratheon._ Just thinking about it made her shudder with nervous excitement. A part of her worried it may be too much pressure having to be perfect with the people, the court, and her lover, watch everything she says and does with extreme caution for the rest of her days...but she had quickly suppressed the negative aspects, telling herself she must always be confident. _I will live a luxurious life as the queen._

"It all seems so surreal," Margaery strangely found herself admitting to them.

"Are you excited to kiss the king at your wedding?" Blaire inquired with a sly raise of her dark brows.

 _I_   _already_   _have_   _kissed_   _the_   _king_ , Margaery thought with a coy smile. She recalled the magic of the previous night. "I'm looking forward to sleeping in the same bed as him."

The ladies burst out in a fit of giggles.

"I bet," the curly brunette said, "he's gorgeous."

"And all mine," Margaery sighed, appearing unaffected, as she gazed off.  _He's gorgeous and all mine._ She couldn't wait to unravel him.

"You're so lucky!" the blonde girl whined. "I want to have sex!"

A few girls giggled, a few looked at her strangely, Margaery among them. Of course, the girl wanted to have sex,  _she_ did too,  _they all did!_ _But you don't say it out loud._ The thought of having sex with Joffrey tickled her stomach.

"I've never had it," the girl explained herself, bashfully. "My eldest sister says it feels incredible. If he does it right."

"It's true," agreed Blair. "I've had many men, the experience is always so different from the last. It's always better if he knows what he's doing."

"Well, obviously," Margaery rolled her eyes.

Margaery imagined sex with Joffrey would be the most incredible experience of her life. She wouldn't trade him for ten thousand Prince Charmings.

Her gaze drifted over the courtyard and spotted Sansa approaching, looking rather miserable wearing a long plain dress with an apron and bonnet. She carried a platter of some kind of pastries, fluffy and powdered,  _the fattening kind,_  and a large pitcher of ice water and along with another kettle of breakfast tea.

"Good morning," Sansa mumbled under her breath, as she was close enough, ascending the white wooden steps, keeping her eyes glued to her feet. She was refraining from looking to Margaery.

It deeply pained Margaery to see her like this. It was cruel and unfair, but what was there to do? If she were to go the king and disagree with his decision it could end badly for her, but it was a risk Margaery was willing to take for her friend. She was usually able to wittily talk her way to getting anything.

Although she was just the queen consort and didn't have any true power of the king legally, perhaps she could find a way to convince him being Sansa being handmaid was not in his best interest.

As the other girls continued to chat, Sansa set the platter of pastries down on the wooden table and proceeded to fill each one of their teacups.

"Sansa," Margaery said, peering at the girl with concern as she began to hesitantly fill her cup. The Stark girl's head remained low but Margaery continued. "It's good to see you. We'll have to talk later."

Sansa peeked up at her, sadness haunting her eyes. Words seemed to tremble on her lip, but she remained silent.

"Your queen addressed you, vermin," one of the spoiled court ladies spat at Sansa, and immediately, Margaery snapped to her defense.

 _How_   _dare_   _she_   _speak_   _to_   _Sansa_   _like_   _that!_  Margaery thought, then realized she was very much in charge of all these ladies.

"Lenore, is it?" Margaery piped up, sending a chilling glare her way. "Watch your tongue when speaking to my friend, or next time, I'll have it cut off."

The court lady's eyes widened with genuine fear, and as the other girls cast glares her way, she turned a shameful shade of red. They were perfect little minions, actual sheep, and seemed to conform to whatever Margaery wanted. They had quickly reordered their social hierarchy, placing Margaery on top.

Sansa looked to Margaery in shocked disbelief.

The ladies murmured to one another and gently began talking again on they realized Margaery was done reprimanding the girl.

"Sansa," she addressed, her among the chatting, her tone had cooled down.

"Thank you, your grace," Sansa mumbled, her eyes averting to the ground.

"I'm terribly sorry about that. She will never behave like that again," Margaery vowed.

Sansa's expression hinted slight gratefulness and perhaps a bit of fear, but she remained silent. It was obvious she was very sad, and Margaery's heart ached for the poor girl.

 _I will find a way to make things better,_ she silently swore to herself.

Then it struck her, the sudden bright idea to speak with the queen regent about it. She was less close-minded than Joff, more logical and understanding at times. It would be much easier to come to her with this request. Although the king was in charge overall, he may just agree with his mother's decision if she could present it in a certain way.

Margaery pondered it for a while and as a gentle rain shower began to hail over them, all the women began to worry about their hair and makeup, whining and crying in the damp wind blowing into the teahouse, all except Margaery and Sansa who were silent, suffocated in thought.

* * *

That evening, just as the sun was setting over the west, Margaery settled in her room, reading a book by the window in the fading light. If she was being completely honest with herself she was very disappointed with how today turned out. She was very bored all day, working on her embroidery, reading and studying, and speaking with Lord Tyrion about some legalities and duties she will have as the queen. The whole day, her mind was elsewhere, as an infatuated teenage girl, all she could think of was the king and what they had done last night.

Over and over the night had played in her head, and all day she found herself fantasizing about the way he kissed her, his mouth, hot and eager against hers, then trailing down her throat. Lust was nothing new to her, but this was something different.  _Oh,_ _Joffrey Baratheon. Everything about him was so attractive for some reason._  It had hardly been a day and she missed him so much.

 _He told me would see me tomorrow, and now tomorrow is over,_  she thought with a gloomy sigh, sending her gaze to the sunset. She wondered if she had the kind of power to simply walk over to his private chambers and say hello. After the thought crossed her mind, she felt herself getting excitedly hooked on this idea, considering maybe she should just do it.

 _But what if he doesn't want to see me? If he wanted to see me, he would have done so,_  she advised herself, but then thought that was foolish.  _Of course, he wants to see me! It's me!_

 _But I don't want to be rude and just barge in_ , she argued with herself silently, getting more and more frustrated before praying to the gods for help.

She decided it wouldn't be rude to stop by a say hello, considering how intimate they'd been lately.  _But I don't want to be clingy. What if he thinks that? But I want to see him..._

Just as she was reassuring herself it would be fine, preparing to visit him, by running a brush through her long chestnut waves, a loud rapping on the door almost made her jump out of her skin. Before she had time to think, there was a gruff voice hollering behind the wood.

"Royal escort!"

 _Escort?_  She thought strangely, walking towards the door.

"What escort?" she called back, her swift fingers working the lock.

When Margaery yanked open the heavy door, she suddenly felt her knees go weak, as if she might faint. Her breath seized and her heart leaped in her throat, as she came eye to eye with the king himself. Towering over him, was his personal bodyguard Sandor Clegane, who actually frightened her a bit.

She stared into Joffrey's powerful artic eyes for a few rapid heartbeats in silence, before remembering to breathe.

He was smiling at her with his gleaming, sharp teeth, seemingly pleased with her shocked reaction as if he had been planning to catch her off guard all day. But that's just another thing she loved about him.

 _He's so unpredictable. That's a good thing,_  she told herself.

Like always, he looked and smelled absolutely incredible. He was wearing all black again, glittering diamond chains hung around his neck, and on both hands, many different rings with diverse twinkling gems, catching in the firelight, and of course, his gleaming, twisted, crown, crooked on his golden head.

She wanted to dash into his inviting arms and hug him tightly, breathe him in and never let go. But fear held her back. She worried he might be uncomfortable or push her off.  _He_ _probably_   _doesn't_   _want_   _his_   _hound_   _to_   _know_   _of_   _our_   _intimacy_.

"Joffrey, my love," she breathed, her heart racing. She felt a wave of relief being able to say his name today. "It's so good to see you."

"Margaery," he greeted her with enthusiasm, looking like a mere child next to the giant hound. "Did you miss me?" He inquired pompously, his dimples made her heartache.  _What a dream, what an absolute little dream._

"Oh, more than you can imagine," she gushed, feeding into his ego, gazing at him under her heavy lashes.

"Good," he smiled pretentiously, crossing his arms. "I came to invite you to have dinner with me," a smile taunted his lips.

 _Dinner with him. The gods heard my prayers,_  her heart danced with joy.

"Oh, I'd be delighted to," she cried, hardly able to contain her excitement.

He smiled pleasantly.

"If I could just slip into something-"

"No need to change," he broke in quickly, and she froze catching his eye. "You look good." His tone was calm for once and made her heart flutter.

She laughed her sweet exciting laugh, "You're too sweet, Joffrey," she said, unable to hide the blush sweeping over her cheeks.

Suddenly, he was offering his arm out to her and Margaery hastily took it, without another thought.

They ambled their way through the long corridors in silence, her heart slammed against her chest as she clung to his warm arm. The contact between them was electric. She was so relieved was able to at least touch him once today. Just moments ago she was planning to eat a small dinner alone in her private chambers and go to sleep, but fortunately, Joffrey was one to surprise.

The Hound trudged behind them in silence, as they made their way through the empty, quiet hallways, dimly lit with wall torchlight. For some time the only sound was their footsteps clicking against the tile.

Margaery felt oddly on edge, and she was sure it was because Joffrey had her all mixed up.

She was good at playing the submissive, attentive girl he wanted, however, she wanted to refrain from doing that too much. She wanted to play by her own rules. Joffrey was used to everyone bowing down before him and worshipping at his feet, so of course, it would catch his attention if she was different. Obviously, she would obey her king as a dutiful wife and queen, but all while pulling his strings. She liked to throw him off, and similarly to him, she enjoyed reactions too, and  _his_  were priceless.

Shadows struck across the wall in the flame's glow, and Margaery, who was on edge, was startled by them and flinched, and immediately stiffening against the king, hugging his soft velvet arm with instinct.

He sensed her tension, because suddenly his eyes trained on her, a subtle frown burdening his serious mouth. However, he said nothing, and they continued to make their way to the royal dining hall in somewhat unsettling silence.

Margaery scrambled to think of something, anything to speak to him about but nothing would come to mind. It seemed her brain couldn't function properly in his presence.

Fortunately, Joffrey began talking instead.

"Our wedding is only a moon away," he started casually, glancing over at her.

"Yes, I'm very excited," she said with visible sincerity.

"They need to start making your dress," he continued. "For the wedding. We'll have you sized tomorrow morning, alright?"

She initially had plans for breakfast with her girlfriends, but she could, without a doubt, reschedule that for another time.

"Perfect. I can't wait," Margaery beamed at him. Suddenly she thought of something very clever. "Do you have one picked out for me yet?" she asked him, looking at him a certain way, one that made him flush, only the slightest bit.

Joffrey raised his eyebrows, bemused. "Picked one out?" he echoed, obviously he had assumed she was choosing her dress.

"Um. No, not yet," he said quickly going along with it, merry to just have control of one more thing.

She was thrusting more power into his hands but it felt oddly right, like how things were supposed to be, and she adored to see his smile.

"I'll be there with you tomorrow morning," he seemingly decided on the spot, his expression was unreadable.

Margaery tightened her grip on his arm.  _He was so sweet._

"I'm looking forward to it, your grace," she said. "To seeing you."

"Joffrey," he reminded her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze back. She stared into his mesmerizing ocean eyes, blue as a robin's egg; they were beautiful but they seemed to beat her down.

 _You complete my soul,_  she wanted to say to him.

"Joffrey," she echoed him instead, her voice hardly a breath.

The air between them was beginning to grow intimate, and as soon as the fantasies of kissing him began sprouting in her brain, she tried to push them away.  _Now is not the time._ She asked herself,  _why not_   _kiss him,_ _though?_  They had done it last night. But again, fear stopped her. Part of it was because she knew they mustn't show too much affection in front of anyone until they are married. She knew he probably wasn't comfortable with them frenching each other in front of his bodyguard. The bigger reason or the  _real_ reason she didn't kiss him was fear of rejection. She was afraid he might push her away. She didn't want to seem too aggressive either. She was positive she should just spend more time with him before she could just kiss him whenever she felt like it.

All too soon, they reached the dining hall, his family was already seated and had begun to dig into the giant feast before them. Again, there was enough food to accommodate an entire party.

"Ah, how nice of you to finally join us," Cersei simpered, as she spooned gravy onto her dish of sliced turkey.

"Your Grace," Margaery dipped her head respectively and slipped into her seat silently, trying to remain as unnoticeable as possible, while Joffrey, always putting on a show, marched over to his great dining chair, at the head of the table, with his loud clunky boots, and landed into his chair, instantly reaching for the dark bottle of ale, all while abruptly knocking a few things over as he did.

"Mother," Joffrey greeted her with a bit of delay, after a fat swig of alcohol. Margaery watched him from an arm's length away and she could already smell the pungent liquid hitting the air. She knew as soon as he started drinking he would grow more aggressive.

As always, Jaime puffed on his pipe at the dinner table, and he chuckled at Joff through a haze of smoke. "I have some aged liquor you would really like, Joffrey."

"Jaime," Cersei said, giving him a look of disapproval.

"The boy's nearly sixteen," Jaime reasoned with her.

"And a king may drink whatever he likes," reminded Joffrey, snapping at his mother, with a scowl.

Cersei only sighed and sipped her wine, as her brother got to his feet and started towards the far shelf, his tremendous collection of fine wine and liquor. As they all picked at their dinner, Jaime started reading off the labels on each bottle with enthusiasm, even opening a bottle or two to smell and taste them, testing for satisfaction.

"You'll like this," said Jaime, returning with a bottle of aged whiskey, that glowed amber in the crackling firelight.

"Joff," Cersei said, as he took a sip."I wanted to speak to you about something." He disregarded her words, but she continued anyway. "A queen can never have too many court ladies."

Right then, Margaery was very interested in what she was about to say.

"Even when Robert was around, I always had many court ladies attending me," she said reminiscing for a brief moment. "But I wanted to suggest to you something that could be beneficial, just for the moral of the court."

"Well, what is it?" he demanded, growing impatient.

"Perhaps, you could reconsider your hasty decision to employ the little Stark girl with a servant occupation," Cersei said, and Joffrey's eyes flickered with irritation at the mention of Sansa.

Margaery was internally ecstatic that Cersei was addressing this issue,  _though she was messy with her words_ , she noted. Joffrey didn't want to be told any of his decisions were hasty.

"Hasty decision?" Joff narrowed his eyes at his mother, confirming Margaery's idea.

"She doesn't need to be employed and taking away from our economy. She is a lady, not a peasant," Cersei explained, and Margaery hoped her words would somehow appeal to him.

"So what is your suggestion?" Joffrey retorted, his tone still laced with irritation, but Margaery and Cersei both seemed relieved he was even willing to listen. "That she should be a court lady?" he scoffed.

"It's just a  _suggestion_ ," confirmed Cersei, her eyes wandered over to Margaery. "The decision is completely up to you. You are the king. It may be more ideal for your queen to have plenty of court ladies. More friends may help her adjust her new life here, it will make the process more comfortable, don't you agree? You do the wish the best for your beloved Margaery, do you not?"

Underneath the table, Margaery sensibly reached for his thigh, continuing, even when he tensed, to gently rub and squeeze him.

Cersei waited for his response for a few moments as the king awkwardly shifted in his chair, before the fact she had asked him something seemingly clicked with him.

"Uh, yes. Of course," he said his, voice jumping with some discomfort.

Margaery and Cersei worked together to get what they wanted from him. When Margaery looked to the queen, her feline eyes were already trained on her, and she wondered if she knew where her hand was at the moment.

She was so relieved the queen had the same train of thought as she. She had been planning to speak with Cersei on this exact issue.

"Do you approve of my suggestion, my love?" simpered Cersei, "We can discuss it at the small council meeting tomorrow afternoon."

Joffrey considered this thought for a moment, taking another sip of Jaime's precious liquor, Margaery and Cersei both awaiting his answer patiently. Cersei didn't seem to be too concerned with this whole thing, yet Margaery still wondered why she was pushing for Sansa to be a court lady.

She continued to caress his thigh, affectionately. Her dainty fingers dared to slowly, gently run along the inner side of his leg, gliding over the fabric.

"I suppose it won't be any difference to me," he finally said with a stressed sigh, shifting again in his seat.

"This is a smart decision on your part, my dearest son," Cersei said.

Margaery realized Cersei had only somewhat figured out the technique of speaking to Joffrey. She was decent at making him feel in charge, smart and powerful, but it was Margaery who had already mastered using her words to get what she wanted from him, by gushing over him, glorifying him, yet still working her way through him.

"Yes," Jaime finally spoke up, agreeing with his sister. "We may also marry her off to whomever we like. This could be a good opportunity for an alliance. Or perhaps a large sum of money?"

"Hm," Joffrey's bright blue eyes wandered out the window, towards the stars. Margaery could tell he was beginning to get bored with this. He seemed to sink into thought for quite some time, her hand still resting on his thigh under the dinner table then suddenly his alert questioning eyes were fixed on her.

"Margaery," he said, his voice low and tantalizing when Cersei and Jaime continued to have their own conversation from across the table. "We should go somewhere together."

Her stomach was a fluttering mess due to his words and low tone. He was close enough so when he spoke his warm breath ghosted over her. She kept watching his teeth, so sharp and gleaming white.

Joffrey had leaned forward a few inches, his cologne was always so enrapturing. She could smell the whiskey on his breath.

"I want to be alone with you again."

This time the fluttering feeling she felt wasn't only in her stomach, but between her legs now as well. He always had a way of doing this to her, without even laying a finger on her. She squeezed his thigh, tenderly, wishing more than anything she could go back to his room with him.

She was somewhat frustrated though, he got her so wound up and they couldn't even play. It wasn't his intention _—_ or maybe it was, but either way, Margaery knew this tension would get too tight and eventually snap. They were bound to break soon, and it would be way before their wedding night.

"Let's go," she murmured leaning in closer than  _he_  ever dared, almost nose to nose, teasing him with her divine fragrance and long lashes. " _Joffrey."_

His eyes flashed with wild excitement, and he downed the rest of his whiskey in one harsh swig, then got to his feet, slamming his goblet on the polished oak.

"Excuse us, mother, uncle," he announced with a dip of the head to each of them, and offered Margaery his hand, pulling her to her feet as well. "I'm going to show my lady my enormous collection of weapons."

"Right now? In the middle of dinner?" Cersei looked conscientiously from one to the other of them with tense eyes.

"We've had our fill," insisted Joffrey, tugging Margaery along by the hand. "When are you going to realize rules don't apply to me, mother?"

Jaime laughed through a puff of pipe smoke, and Cersei sighed her familiar sigh of defeat, the usual one, whenever she questioned her son over anything.

Margaery clung to his hand soft, boyish hand, her eyes trained to the back of his blonde head, as he led her from the room.

Times like this made her truly forget how much younger the boy king was from her. The power in his grip made her feel like she was being tugged around by some big, tough man, but it was just her bossy, little Joffrey. He was truly something special, though. She had already given her entire heart to him. No man had ever struck her with such an intense feeling of want _—_ _need._

They slipped out into the dim hallway and hurried through the shadows as he pulled her along. She followed without question, holding his hand tightly wondering where they were off to.

She wondered what they would do. The other night, when they were kissing it occurred to her that  _something_  could have gone down if that guard hadn't interrupted them. Now there was a good chance he was now going to take her somewhere where to ensure that doesn't happen again.

The thought of having sex with him struggled against her chest, burning low in her core. It felt very plausible, at the moment, as he led her to some unknown location. She couldn't wait to please him in every way she could imagine.

They passed by guards, who watched them oddly but didn't say a word to object. No one was stupid enough to question their king.

As they passed through an iron set of doors, they were suddenly under the curtain of nightfall, the cool, fresh air sending chills over Margaery's skin. They were in an open wing, an overpass of some sort; a part of the castle she had never been before. The courtyard was visible down below, and far off towards the other end of the castle, she could see the garden. They followed along the path, to meet another cluster of tall, pointed towers and long halls, passing more guards as they walked.

"Joffrey," she said, nervous excitement racing through her voice. "Where are we headed?"

"Somewhere where no one can bother us," his tone was coarse, his words meeting her prediction, and he glanced back at her, his eyes seemed to eat right through her.

Joffrey's hair appeared white in the moonlight, his gleaming crown always tipping at an angle. She squeezed his hand gently, as they reached another set of doors.

They slipped in, and Margaery was relieved to feel the pleasant warmth of being inside again. This room was very dimly lit with many rows of candles lining the walls. At first, Margaery thought the room was small, but when they followed a small roundabout, passing a beautiful fountain of stone carved angels, they finally emerged into a massive cathedral, the room so grand and tall, she could hardly see the ceiling rafters through the haze of sage smoke, wafting through the air. There were church pews, and towering pillars leading up to a set of stairs before a grand alter and beautiful glorious glass window.

Margaery looked around in awe, surprised she had never seen the royal cathedral. It was beautiful and peaceful, yet eerily silent. For some reason, it gave off an ominous vibe, and she felt uneasy in this dark, empty church.

The tension had expired almost instantaneously as her thoughts returned to Joffrey, his eyes, bright, even in the dark, were suddenly fixed on her.

It then clicked with her that they were completely alone. There was not another living, breathing soul in this cathedral.

Without thinking, she started towards him, and her heart slammed against her chest until they collided as one.

Before she even had time to regret what she just did, his tongue was already in her mouth, his possessive arms, coiled tightly around her tiny waist like a trap, welcoming her into his grasp.

Joffrey squeezed her tightly against him, so their bodies molded to one, as his wet tongue devoured her, flicking over hers with congested, overflowing lust. His mouth was sweet of whiskey, and she could feel his heartbeat hammering against his chest too, against her exposed cleavage. She felt like the luckiest girl in the words and ironically thanked the gods for letting them use this chapel for sin.

Suddenly he was ripping away from her, his dark, glowing eyes frantically assessing the aisle way they were in.

"What's wrong?" Margaery asked, worry haunting her voice.

"Let's move out of the open," he growled, his cold hand was then tugging her along the endless row of benches, up the steps, past the altar, veering off into the shadows by the pipe organ.

Once safely hidden in the shadows, Joffrey then pinned her against the cool, stone wall, with force, his hot mouth starving against hers. He was never gentle, but she liked it. The feeling when he was in charge, pulling and pushing her around, kissing her with such hunger, it was indescribable. Currently, it was turning her on, she could feel herself growing wetter by the moment.

He pushed against her, and she almost lost it when she felt his hardened member, press against her thigh, and instinctively, she shifted into him so he was perfectly positioned at her core.

It was like lightning running through her body, just the feeling of pressure against the sensitive sweet spot between her legs, let alone the source of that pressure being his perfect, hard cock.

She imagined how amazing it would feel if he drove it inside her, the feeling of his length filling her up. She wondered what it looked like, what it tasted like. It was such a delicious thought now in her head, she slowly began grinding against his hardened crotch, her fingers curling through the golden blonde locks at the back of his neck.

"Joffrey," she breathed into their kiss, her hand trailing down to his abdomen, resting there in that intimate spot. She had a brilliant idea. "I want to taste you," she murmured into his open mouth, and his eyes opened to reveal suppressed anxiety.

"Please, my king," she whispered, coaxing him, and this time, she bravely dared her fingers to gently slip their way beneath his garment, and so for the first time, she could feel the subtle muscles of his abdomen, "I'll make you feel good."

At first, he tensed when her fingers moved over his soft skin, exposed to her touch. She imagined what he looked like shirtless. She was so relieved he was allowing her to touch him.

A hot, rosy blush cursed his cheeks, and it had occurred to her again how young he was. He was so intimidating, and sharp, so good at carrying himself, it was easy to forget he was a just a young boy as well as a virgin.

Although he came off shy currently, she remembered he was quite the opposite, as he suddenly, roughly gripped ahold of her waist, his excited hands running his hands down her hips to squeeze both sides of her thighs. She winced as he bit at her bottom lip again, this time not hard enough to draw blood, but it still stung with sharp pain.

"I will not disappoint you, Joffrey," she breathed against his jaw, kissing the soft skin of his chin and throat, making him sigh very quietly.

Her fingers wandered down his abdomen further, stopping at his brilliant gold belt buckle. She met his eyes, awaiting approval. She was eager to satisfy him. She couldn't' wait to hear him moan.

"Yes, do it," he hissed anxiously, his warm breath ghosting over her in the dark.

At his command, she began to unravel him. She had been so eager for this very moment, and now she's finally getting what she wanted. Her fingers swiftly worked his belt buckle, prying it open. Her heart raced so quickly she felt it might burst.

She would not let him down, she vowed. She was going to be everything he wanted and more. She would satisfy all his needs, his deepest, darkest desires, and morbid fantasies.

Margaery unbuttoned the final shiny gold button on his trousers, and with her fingers trembling with excitement, she reached into his pants to grip the base of his hard pulsing member and pull him free.

His cock was thick and smooth in her hand, stiff as a blade. He was circumcised, she saw, as she examined his moderate length.  _He was so perfect._  She realized then, she had been staring at it for too long, judging from the uncomfortable look on Joff's face when she glanced up to him.

"You're so big," she gushed over him, stroking his ego flawlessly, "How will you even fit, my king?"

Without waiting for his reply, she made him gasp softly in pleasure as she squeezed him gently in her palm and began to stroke his cock up and down slowly with her little fingers. He quivered with pleasure, then seemed oddly irritated.

"Down," Joffrey ordered, and she obediently slid down to her knees, looking up at him from the floor. "Open your mouth."

His abrupt hand found the back of her neck, his fingers lacing through her soft hair. She did as she was told, and opened her mouth wide, for him, as his hand forced against the back of her neck, as he pushed himself inside, forcing her to swallow all his length.

He groaned faintly at this new, wet, feeling, the sweet feeling of a girl's mouth around his cock.

She did not struggle to take all of it and gazed up at him under her long lashes only slightly tearing up at this new thick length.

She had never sucked only anyone's dick before, it was kind of enjoyable, but only because of the cute sounds he was making. However, she was going to try to have fun with this.

"Mm, I've been so eager to taste you, my sweet king Joffrey," She said the last part seductively slow, then ran her tongue over the sensitive tip of his cock, making him groan with pleasure, and throwing his head back as her tongue continued to move down along his shaft.

"Mmm...yes...that feels nice," he moaned, stroking her hair gently, "good girl."

In response, she closed her lips tighter around him, sucking and swirling her tongue around the tip of his sweet cock, and grazing the small sensitive ridge beneath his head, before swallowing his length all the way back to the end of her throat, then back out. She repeated this, before allowing one of her hands initially gripping the back his thigh, to aid her working mouth, and begin pumping along his slick wet shaft.

"Ohh, fuck," he groaned, burying his dick further into her mouth. "My goddess. Don't stop."

_His goddess._

Margaery's eyes watered at his sudden, choking length, as she gagged, yet she maintained herself, moaning sensually as the tip nearly reached her uvula, the soft smooth skin moving against her wet tongue perfectly. His balls were tight with arousal and grazed her chin as she took his length back as far as she could manage. She used her other hand to reach into his trousers, to squeeze them tenderly, careful to be very gentle with his sensitive sack, causing him to moan and sigh with pleasure.

 _How cute,_ her stomach fluttered at the sound of him. She was amazed by what she was doing to the king, and how vocal he was being. Her core was aching and throbbing with lust for him but she disregarded it, her only thought was to make him feel good, she didn't care about her own needs at the moment, as she continued to suck on him, her head endlessly bobbing back and forth, her mouth working him with care.

"Ohh..mmmm, Margaery..." He groaned with pleasure, throwing his head back again, "don't ever stop."

His grip tightened on her hair, he guided her head, as she sucked him, setting a quick pace for her.

"Come here," Joffrey ordered, as he suddenly took a step back and sat down on the bench before the pipe organ, and Margaery, on the floor, crawled over to him to allow her head to dip between his thighs again, eager to get him back in her mouth.

"I love your cock," she whimpered to him, before she sucked the end of it, licking up the few drops of his precious seed that had already seeped out.

Joffrey's hand pushed her head down roughly, forcing her to gag around him again, and this time he began thrusting hard and fast into her throat, harshly tightening his grip on her hair. His pace was beginning to grow too fast to keep up with.

"I know you can take more," he growled huskily at her between thrusts.

Every time she gagged it would entice him to grow rougher with her, clenching her hair tighter, driving his cock in deeper, but like a good girl, she whimpered for him, moaning around his cock.

"You like it rough," Joff hissed at her between his heavy breaths.

Margaery held onto both sides of the organ bench for leverage as he fucked her mouth. She knew he was about to burst any second as his thrusts grew heavier and faster, her eyes watering.

"Mmm...Margaeryy."

Just as she anticipated, after one more powerful thrust, he extracted his slick cock and stroked himself violently. He leaned back into the pipe organ by accident, seeking leverage, and causing it to roar it's glorious bellow, echoing through the massive empty cathedral, causing both of them to jump with fright. His hand suddenly slowed as he finally reached that sweet release. His hot seed spilled out, dripping all down her face, and then he pushed his cock back into her warm mouth, spending the rest of his cum down her throat.

She was unbothered by the warm, salty taste of his release, and after swallowing all he had to give, she popped his wet cock out of her mouth, sucking off whatever was left on the tip.

"What a good girl you are," he praised her, stroking her hair, before putting himself away. She was sure the gods were frowning upon their sinful, teenage scandal.

"I adore pleasing you, my king," she gazed up at him with devotion, as she wiped her face clean with the skirts of her dress.

They both got to their feet and for a brief moment, there was silence between them, the only sound being the clasp of his belt working in the dark.

"Let's go now," his sudden voice was frantic. "That organ was too loud."

Joffrey's excited eyes were slightly visible in the moonlight pouring through the stained glass.

_He was so beautiful._

They stole through the church, back the way the came, and into the nighttime air. It was cool and refreshing after all that heat, however, Margaery needed a glass of water.

They hurried through the royal wing, Joffrey seemed on edge, she knew he just wanted to get safely out of sight.

Now in the light, Margaery could see how his cheeks had reddened from the excitement, his blonde hair ruffled and messy under his crooked crown. She was sure she looked a mess as well and wasn't positive what she would even say if they were stopped by someone.

She couldn't believe what they had just done.  _Oh, how scandalous_. She couldn't imagine what her court ladies would say if shared this dirty little secret. She would never. He was hers and only hers, not just another pretty boy for the girls to fuss over and whisper about.

Just as they neared the armory, upon turning down the hall, golden with torch lights, they knew they were doomed.

Margaery's breath seized, and she heard Joff's gasp too, as his mother came into view down the hall.

 _What do we do?_ Margaery thought frantically, and before either of them had time to react, the queen's green feline eyes were already trained to them.

Margaery looked to Joffrey, her eyes wide with fear, but was surprised to see an amused smirk tugging on his lips.

"This should be good," he sighed, as the queen regent strode towards them, "Let me do the talking."


	4. Diamonds and Pretty Things

**IV**

It was nearly midnight, when Cersei ambled her way down the seemingly endless halls, her wine in hand. At this point, her head was starting to swim with intoxication, the rich liquid had finally made it's way to her brain.

_It takes longer to truly reach me these days,_  she thought, taking another sip as she followed the corridor, her long red skirts trailing behind her.

_These long days and long nights,_ she felt like sobbing, as she passed under the soft crackling flames of the torches, her dark wine swirling in her cup.

There was twilight leaking through the window she passed, the moon was a soothing peaceful sight over the city, but her heart was on edge. She wouldn't admit it, but through a drunken haze, she felt lonely.

Long after dinner had ended, Cersei remained seated with Jaime, at the dinner table, their conversation had gradually turned into a wasted debate, and he stormed off because of something she had said.

If she was going to be completely honest with herself, she hardly remembered what she had said, and what they had even argued of for that matter. For they had both already had far too much wine.

_Jaime, my poor Jaime, come back to me,_ she hummed to herself faintly, listening to the staggered clicks of her heels on the marble.

She prayed she would run into him, and suddenly everything would be alright as he would wrap her in his forceful, big arms, kissing her and whispering sweet things.

The hallways were seemingly swaying and were all too warm for her and her hand grazed the wall as she walked, helping to correct her balance.

_Where is my love? My poor, sweet Jaime..._

Just as she turned a corner, something brilliant happened. A blur of blonde hair under a glittering crown.  _Jaime? No, even better._ It was her blessed, little cub who appeared at the end of the hall, with his betrothed.

_Joffrey, my love,_ her heart leaped with joy and she started towards him. It was so good to see him after such a foul encounter with her brother. Joff was such a refreshing sight. He was a breath of fresh air, an ice cold cup of water on a hot summer's day. Her little cub. Margaery even too, the little flower, was pleasant to come across in these endless, condemning halls.

Her delicate purple dress reminded Cersei of a violet, but her hair was a violent mess.

Joffrey and Margaery both looked alarmed for a split second when they caught sight of Cersei, but as she neared, they smiled.

"Mother," Joffrey, greeted her casually, smiling her favorite smile. She noticed how red his cheeks were. Perhaps, the hallways were too warm for him as well.

"Joff," Cersei cried, the wine was making her delightful. "My dearest love," she threw her arms around him, pulling into the sweetest hug. He allowed her to squeeze and love him.

The feeling of his small framed, wrapped snuggly against her reminded her of when he was just a little boy he would come running into her embrace at any time. Oh, how she missed his innocent child's affection. How the times have changed. It was so different now. They had always been so close, and she liked to believe they still were. She felt the urge to sob suddenly but she blinked it away as he drifted from her.

"What's the matter, mother?" he could obviously see something was bothering her, but she paid no mind.

"Nothing at all," she brushed off his words with a bit of a slur and turned to hug Margaery, the pretty little thing.

"It's good to see you, your grace," said the girl politely as Cersei hugged her. She was youthful and refreshing, a sweet little flower.  _This one will be much easier on Joff's nerves,_ Cersei felt strangely charmed by Margaery tonight.

"Child," she smiled at the younger girl who eyed her strangely, "You're a good seed," she cried emotionally, then took another very unneeded sip of wine.

Joffrey watched her with uncertainty as she swallowed the bitter liquid. She stumbled a bit in her place, as her intoxicated eyes met his she saw his father in him, his true father.  _Both of them are perfect. Angels beamed down from the Seven Heavens._

The air seemed to grow hotter, and Cersei felt a bit dizzy. She looked back to Margaery with a weak smile, "Margaery, my dear. Please. Take care of him," she felt like she had to sit down. The wine was doing all the talking for her. "I..love him...so dearly."

"Of course, your grace," said the little flower.

Cersei felt weak and so dizzy, struggled to hold their gaze. Margaery was just a blob of chestnut curls and purple silk. Her face was like a model's, with sharp, flawless features. Her makeup was a smudged mess, but it was okay because everyone, right then, was a mess, and she looked so beautiful. More beautiful than ever.  _She must take care of Joffrey. She must make him happy,_ Cersei was confident she would.

Cersei lifted the chalice to her lips in an attempt to take another sip, but her arm was so weak the cup felt far too heavy. She truly had to sit down somewhere, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

She looked over to Joff, a blur of gold, who was staring at her with concern, and she reached for him, his shoulder, his arm, his chest, anything for her to grab onto so she wouldn't tip over.

"Mother, you've had enough to drink," he said, allowing her to grasp his shoulder for support, as the hallway spun. He watched painfully as she took another swig.

"Queens can drink as much as they like," she slurred, mocking him, with a lazy grin.

At this point, she was seeing double, and when Joffrey just rolled his eyes at her remark, there was two of him, and as the hallway continued to spin, she grew dizzier and warmer, and even nauseous. Perhaps she was beginning to tip over, because she suddenly felt his boyish arm snake around her, to prevent her from going down.

"Let's get you to bed, Mother," Joff's voice was close now, by her ear, and she tipped her head back to meet the giant drops of crystal blue staring at her. She recalled the long nights ago when  _she_  was the one getting _him_  off to bed.

"Oh, how the times have changed," she cried, feeling the sudden urge to sob, as Joffrey hauled her down to corridor. She leaned into his warmth, as the tears began to glisten in her eyes.

"Hush, Mother. You're going to wake up the dead," Joff groaned, glancing back at Margaery who remained behind, watching with concern.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Joffrey called back over his shoulder to her, as he escorted his drunk mother off to bed.

* * *

Just like the last thought before bed, Margaery awoke thinking of him, as well. She had fallen under his spell, and he completely was consuming her at this point. First thing in the morning, after washing up, dressing in a plain white dress, and eating a quick breakfast in her room, she was retrieved by a servant and some guards to get measured out for her wedding gown.

She followed these strangers through the long fancy halls their expensive shoes clacking on the glossy marble. The corridors were bright and vibrant with the gold haze of daylight, and the air smelled of seawater and salt air. Margaery felt as if she were in a fairytale in this beautiful palace, her eyes wandering out at the bay as they passed an opening in the wall. There was a weeping angel statue and followed by a lush thicket of flowers snarled over the walls. Her eyes swept over the vines climbing up the pillars as they passed the open wing, that reminded her of home. Yes, it reminded her of home, but she didn't feel that she missed it at all. She was very perfectly content in this strange new paradise.

After what felt like a million steps, they reached a room on the highest floors, with a gorgeous view from the massive windows overlooking the ocean. The room was full of fabrics, sewing supplies, and a few of her court ladies, Lucinda being one of them. They brought her up on a shallow stone pedestal to take her measurements.

Just as they were sizing her waist with some tape, the king arrived, swinging up the door abruptly as he marched in, The Hound, like always, following behind like a good guard dog.

Naturally, the sight of the Joffrey made her stomach flutter. She watched him with serenity, watching a blur of sunlight crawl over his golden locks. He was perfect. She couldn't get last night out of her mind, it was stuck on repeat. Just thinking of what she did for him then, was making her hot now.

Every time their eyes met all she could think of was his cock in her mouth. She had to do it again. She craved him. She needed more. She wanted him to fuck her bloody, just like he said he would.

"Diamonds or pearls?" He said, snapping her from the daze as he held the expensive, glittering jewelry above her bust where it would hang.

"Diamonds," she replied instantly, and his powerful, icy gaze drew to hers, stopping her heart. "Is that even a question?"

Joffrey smiled as he moved behind her. "You have expensive taste," his warm breath touched her ear as he lay the priceless gems over her racing heart, the sharp diamonds, tickling her skin. "This necklace can buy you an entire fleet."

_An entire fleet? He was correct about her expensive taste._

"Perhaps I'm with the right man," she turned her head over her shoulder to give him a coy, kittenish smile.

They were eye to eye, their mouths hardly an inch apart. So close but so far away. She wanted to move forward and push their lips passionately together so badly, but she knew he wouldn't like that in front of all these people. She knew he wanted them to be very inconspicuous with their affection. A bride may not wed a king if she is not innocent.  _Though n_ _o one would ever find out anyhow..._

_When did the Lannisters ever follow the rules anyway?_

She focused on his mouth. They were so very close, she could feel the soft breath leaving the small parting between his lips. She wished he would just kiss her.

Joffrey's blue eyes were trained on her lips as well, then darted around the room hastily, searching for any watchers. The group of court ladies were all busy trimming and measuring fabrics, and weren't paying attention to the two of them. The only watcher was his hound, leaned against the doorway, towering over the room.

And just like that, he drifted away, the intimacy depleting faster than it had appeared.

Margaery averted her eyes shyly as her heart sank. She struggled to come up with something to say, to distract their minds from the ineptitude of it all. Then suddenly, an important thought tagged her, one that had been bothering her for since the night before.

"Joffrey," Margaery's tone was smooth and not at all pleading, though she was about to ask him something. "My sweet king," she frosted her words, her feline eyes returning to his.

She was going to figure if he truly meant what he said about Sansa becoming a court lady. She knew he was going to a small council meeting after this and she must ensure that he brings this topic up.

"Do you remember last night?" she asked, causing his eyes to flicker with tension and his cheeks to flush a bit. She realized she had worded it incorrectly, and felt herself growing hot in the face as well as she recalled what  _else_  had happened last night, remembering their intimacy.

"When we spoke of Sansa," she clarified, scrambling to find her words, never averting her eyes from his, but taking a slow breath to gather herself.

"Sansa?" there was some disappointment in his voice, as his brows knitted.

"Your mother suggested a new place for her as one of my court ladies, do you remember, Joff?" Margaery asked choosing her words wisely, finding his hand to gently squeeze it, praying the simple skin to skin contact would be enough to keep his answer positive.

"Oh, yes..." he trailed off, gazing down at their hands woven together, the blush on his cheeks growing more apparent.

"Are you going to discuss it in the meeting today, my love?" She asked with pleading eyes, caressing his hand with her thumb.

_Please, Joff._

His eyes remained trained on their hands for a moment before he glanced over to see a few court ladies peering over.

Margaery didn't quite catch what he grumbled under his breath, but then snapped his hand away from her quickly, and her heart sank plummeting again.

_Joffrey, who cares?_ She wanted to whine, but she only sighed, averting her eyes shyly.

"Yes, my approval has been granted, I'll bring it up to the small council," he growled to her surprise, with a firmness in his voice that was so foreign to her.

Her first emotion was a wave of gratefulness from his approval, but then the realization occurred he was starting to address her with the same hostility he used with everyone else.

_He's growing more comfortable with me,_ she knew it was true.  _His true colors will show soon, once the butterflies fade._ She realized this, yes, and it seemed like anyone in the right mind would try their best to get away, but something in her heart just screamed his name. Unexplainably, he was so pure to her. She felt it was her destiny to love this boy unconditionally.

So, she beamed at him with perfect white teeth, her eyes filled with devotion, "I thank you with all my heart, my king," she wanted to reach for his hand again but she refrained from it this time, knowing it might be unwise to. She knew he would yank away.

Joffrey gave her a small nod, but remained silent, eyeing her strangely.

Margaery disregarded this, as the court ladies hurried over with some dress cut outs. They suffocated her with questions and fabric to try on, and suddenly their interaction was over, and after dismissing The Hound, Joffrey, now the only boy present, lingered around the outskirts of the room as Margaery slipped out of her dress to stand solely in her panties and corset.

She caught Joff's subtle, virgin eye, admiring her exposed curves and busty cleavage, accentuated by the corset. Instead of blushing or smiling at him, she continued to just hold her gaze high and out the window at the bay, her posture flawless and feminine, and secretly, she could feel the lust already stirring in her core.

Margaery glanced back to Joffrey, who's young gaze was assessing her wide hips and toned thighs. He was so drawn in by her beauty, he didn't even notice she was staring directly at him. He was making her worry about how she looked. She made sure to suck in, even though she very obviously didn't need to, with her naturally slender waist and tightly laced corset. She internally scolded herself for feeling shy after she realized she shouldn't be at all.

_He is just a little boy!_ She thought, slightly frustrated with herself. I must be confident. I am a goddess.  _I am going to be the queen._

After trying on many dresses, it wasn't until midday that they pieced together the perfect design.

Joffrey had left early to attend the meeting, while Margaery and her court ladies finished adding small details to the dress he had decided on.

"So..." one of the girls started as she stitched the low cut v-neckline of the ivory dress. "The Stark girl will now be one of us?"

This threw Margaery off guard, and she glanced down at the blonde girl, not failing to catch the bitterness in her tone.

_They had all been listening to her and Joff?_

"No, she will not," Margaery said firmly, and the girl peeked up at the queen-to-be with wide eyes. "She will be my personal lady-in-waiting. My _personal_  attendant. She will be higher status than the rest of you."

The girls were all quiet for a pitiful moment, as the brat reddened, then silently continued her stitchwork.

"I'm so excited for your wedding, your grace," Lucinda chimed in, not paying any mind to the awkward air. "The king will make a wonderful husband."

"Oh yes, he completes me," Margaery said, imaging the endless things they could do once married. "We will have a lot of fun together," she added, a risque touch in her tone.

The little minions giggled beneath her, from below the pedestal.

"You're the luckiest girl in Westeros," said one, Margaery didn't know the name of. "You get to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and sleep every night in the royal palace with that gorgeous blondie."

"I know, Joff's delicious. He always smells of fine soap and his hands are so soft," said Margaery and the girls squealed and fussed over such minor details, making her grin in amusement. She couldn't imagine their reaction if she revealed to them the thickness and length of his cock. The feeling of his sensitive skin sliding over her tongue. The taste of his priceless, royal seed, drizzling down her throat.

"The ceremony itself will be so grand," Lucinda continued, ripping Margaery from her pornographic thoughts. "You'll look like a goddess in this dress."

Margaery's stomach fluttered at that simple word. "Lucinda," she smiled, climbing down from the pedestal. "I am a goddess."

* * *

After asking a few handmaids for directions, Margaery finally found Sansa under the midday sun, sitting at the docks, outside the palace, watching the waves.

Margaery crossed the withered dock, excitement racing through her veins as she spotted the firey girl dressed in blue. She matched the ocean perfectly, the long blue ruffles of her dress blending with the waves.

Sansa's red head turned to look at the source of the approaching footsteps. Her bright eyes were alarmed for a split second as they landed on Margaery, then softened instantly when realizing who it was.

"Your grace" her long red hair shimmered as she stood quickly, scrambling to form a curtsy.

"I'm not the queen yet, my dear," Margaery grabbed Sansa's pale hands, proving to how unnecessary the formality of the greet was. Their fingers laced together and Margrey noted her hands were soft and warm, and much daintier than Joffrey's.

"Oh, well...I don't know. It just sounds right..." a hint of blush teased Sansa's cheeks and her bright, sapphire eyes averted shyly.

Margaery felt herself smiling, inadvertently. She adored this girl, and her words, and the way she moved. Something about her was captivating. She was so youthful and refreshing to look at.

Margaery gave her hands a squeeze before letting go, to sit down on the docks where the redhead had just been seated.

"Sit with me, love," Margaery patted the rugged wood planks, settled just above the lapping waves. The air smelled of salt and the gulls called to one another in the sky.

Margaery took in the open vastness of the ocean, here eyes trained along the endless blue horizon.  _It just goes on forever._

"Thank you for the other day," Sansa said suddenly breaking the brief moment of silence, gathering her skirts as she sat down next to the Highgarden girl. "During breakfast."

"Yes, of course, Sansa. I'll always have your back," Margaery vowed, her eyes wandered to meet the Stark girl's. She recalled the day before when she had sharply defended the little dove. Her fingers gently found the other girl's wrist, and squeezed it affectionately, "We're friends, sweet girl."

For the first time, Margaery could see sincere contentment in Sansa's eyes. This whole time, she had known this girl as a sad little bird, lost from home, always down, but suddenly she seemed to bloom to life under her touch.

Margaery realized the minimal effort it took on her part, to make this sweet northern girl's life so much easier. She adored with just a few carefully chosen words she can change everything. Margaery recognized this power she had, as Sansa smiled her pretty white smile, a look that tugged on the girl's heart.

"T-thank you so much, your grace," Sansa's lips struggled on her sincere words, looking up to Margaery as if she was an actual goddess.

Margaery knew this was a good time to tell Sansa what she had managed to get from the king.

"Sansa, I have some news," she began, rubbing her wrist sweetly, and the younger girl's bright eyes trained on her, listening intently, shuddering under her touch.

Margaery offered a warm smile, to assure her it was nothing to be worried of.

"The queen regent and I, have spoken with the king, regarding your role here in King's Landing," said Margaery, the Stark girl's eyes widening at her words. She leaned in as if she was closer she would absorb the words better, and Margaery could smell the lavender soap on her skin. Her deep blue eyes were glistening with hope. "King Joffrey has decided to allow you to be my personal court lady."

"What?" Sansa cried out of pure joy, a sparkling hope distilling in her giant blue eyes. As a grin broke across her face, suddenly her blue arms were thrown around Margaery, pulling her into an abrupt excited hug. "That's wonderful news!"

"I'm so glad," Margaery couldn't help but grin enormously too, at the redhead's enthusiasm as she hugged her back tightly. "We'll be even closer now."

There was an amazing sense of accomplishment, bringing such joy to this poor little dove.

"I'm forever in your debt, your grace," Sansa murmured, her eyes fluttered shut as she remained nuzzled against the older girl.

"You may call me Margaery, little love."

_She's such an innocent little thing,_ Margaery thought as the sweet girl's arms tightened around Margaery's waist.

Sansa smelled of fresh roses, and her blue silk dress was smooth and pleasant as it moved, gliding over Margaery's exposed skin, who was in a much more revealing dress.

If she was going to be completely honest with herself Sansa's arms were the most comforting feeling. She found it almost impossible to tear herself away from the warm, tranquility. So they just remained embraced for a bit longer, watching the waves.

* * *

It probably past midnight when the lightning cut through the black sky with a crack, awakening Margaery with a gasp.

She sat up in her bed, the air rather cold. It was almost too dark to see, except the moonlight shone through the storming window, revealing the black shapes of furniture in her room.

At the far end, she thought she saw a dark shadowy figure, standing and watching her. Fear seized her with its tight grip and she felt the sudden urge to panic. Her heart raced and she wanted to scream and cry and run for help, but when the lightning cracked again like a powerful whip in the storming night sky, the room lit up for a heartbeat allowing her to catch a glimpse of this shadow monster, only to reveal it was just a lamp, with the torches blown out.

She slumped back in her feather bed with a sigh of relief, still feeling on edge, even though she knew nothing was there to hurt her. She didn't feel safe, she hated sleeping alone, and still wasn't used to it, even after these past few weeks of having to do so. Remembering the guards outside her door should have made her felt less uneasy, but she soon realized the edge she felt wasn't fear, maybe at first it had been, but now it was something different. It was a strange emotion, a mix of want and anxiety. The questionable idea had just crossed her mind.  _Joffrey._

She hadn't seen him since this morning, and she wanted him more than anything right now. He would keep her safe, in his warm, loving embrace, she knew it. He would take the edge off with his tender touch, and sweet lips. Suddenly she was hooked on this fantasy of him and decided she could not go back to sleep without him. This fantasy could be real and he was only a few hallways away. She had to feel him, his warmth against her, and inhale his musky, distinct scent, and feel his soft golden lock curling through her fingers. She wanted to absorb him, to devour him.

Like any lovesick teen, she was plotting in her head, now, to sneak out and go see him.

She wondered whether she should go to his chambers or try to bring him back to hers. She wondered how she would even slip into his bedroom without being caught by a guard. It was foolish and impulsive but she paid no mind, for the sleep and edge were corrupting her mind.

After some thought, Margaery decided to do it. She crept through the halls, swift and stealthy like a cat, wearing nothing but a short white, silk slip. It revealed much of her thighs, however, she wore a long black silk robe over herself, that helped to cover most of everything. She was silent, and the only sound was the patter of rain on the roof shingles and the soft crackle of the wall torches.

_How am I even going to do this?_ she thought anxiously, stealing through the dark hall, only after making sure no guard is present.

The castle rumbled with thunder, and lightning illuminating the corridor with an electric snap. She jumped with fright, but continued through the shadows, praying this will go over smoothly. The rain grew heavier, pouring down on the castle, and down the windows like buckets of water.

Margaery reached the hall of the king's private chambers. Her heart raced, and she saw a few guards outside Joffrey's bedroom door, one of them sleeping, two of them whispering quietly to one another, and the last one was the unmistakable hound, leaning against the doorway, taking frequent swigs from his flask.

She eyed him carefully for a moment, before striding out into the firelight. The men all turned to look at her at the same time, surveying her with interest.

The Hound spoke first.

"Lady Margaery, what are you doing up at this hour?" he growled seemingly impatient already, and suddenly another clash of lightning struck the sky, revealing his gruesome, burned face and dark, frightening eyes.

"That is none of your concern," she spoke sharply, holding her head high, "Everyone can leave right now without an issue, or the king will have a word with you."

The men exchanged worried glances, but The Hound remained unmoving, looking slightly amused.

"Leave. Now," Margaery ordered firmly, her eyes flashing with gravity.

Lightning cracked in the sky again, lighting the stone corridor up for a heartbeat, and the men exchanged looks again.

"You two go," The Hound ordered, sending them off with a nod of the head.

_And you,_ Margaery thought sharply, glaring at him, her heart beginning to thump with anger.

"I must stay here and guard the king's private quarters," The Hound said to the men, but held Margey's glare. He seemed to have read her mind.

The two guards started down the hallway quickly, leaving the two of them alone in awkward silence.

_I must find a way to get rid of him,_  she narrowed her eyes at his stubborn glare. Then, gathered all her courage and strode towards him, so they were close enough to touch.

"I need to get into this room," she coaxed, smiling at him the way she would at some boys. "I'm well aware it's your duty to guard him, but I assure you I will not hurt him."  _Only pleasure him,_ she wanted to add so badly.

He chuckled his deep rumble of a laugh. "I know your intentions are not to hurt him, little girl. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"An idiot?" Margaery echoed, then laughed her exciting laugh. "Of course not. I know you are a smart man," she smiled sweetly. "You know exactly what I want, love. Why not just step aside and let me claim my king?"

"It's not that easy. You know you can't just go lie with him, little girl," he sniggered cynically.

"And why is that?" she raised her eyebrows, her eyes flickering with tension. He was beginning to get on her nerves.  _I should have the power to tell him to go, shouldn't I? I should have some power, considering I will be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in less than a moon._

"We all here know that it is widely shunned upon you are wed, now go back to your chambers, before I carry you back."

Margaery stared at him blankly for a moment before a subtle smirk tugged on her mouth.

"I hope you're joking right now, foolish dog," she snapped with the raise of a brow, "When Joffrey finds out of this, it will be over for you."

She laughed crookedly, her teeth gleaming and sharp, while The Hound towered over her, expressionless.

"I'll be your queen soon enough, so you might as well just start listening now," her voice was suddenly gentle and soothing, but her words were efficient. "Move aside, please," she said politely as she could manage. Margaery oddly trusted he wouldn't reveal anything. He had been protecting the king, the boy's whole life, so she would trust he would protect his reputation as well.

"I know you won't tell," she was confident with her words, eyeing him under her thick lashes and arched brow.

The Hound stared at her with his dark cold eyes, his face shadowy in the firelight, until he finally gave out a long exaggerated sigh, before stepping aside to let her push the door open. She dipped her head at him in thanks before slipping into the small space between the double doors.

Suddenly it was too dark to see. Margaery heard the doors click shut behind her and at last, she had made it. She was in this black, cool room, the only sound was the rain showering down on the palace, streaming down the windows.

It had all seemed to happen so fast. Her stomach began to crawl with anxiety. She had never been in his room before. Joffrey was somewhere in here, sleeping. She had no idea what had come over her. Moments ago, she was in her own bed and somehow her racing heart led her down the hall in the night, and now she standing breathless in King Joffrey's bedroom.

Margaery could make out the shape of his canopy bed in the dark and she began to silently move towards it, and suddenly another clap of electric in the sky, made her nearly jump out of her skin, it lit up his room for a brief moment and she could see all the pretty, expensive things.

She gathered herself quickly, standing before the curtains of his bed and slipped out of her silk robe, letting it pool around her ankles on the floor.

The air was cold and crisp against her fair, exposed skin, causing gooseflesh to break out over her arms and her nipples hardened against the thin silk fabric of her white slip. She was relieved to be in the dark.

All while holding her breath, Margaery gingerly reached out to move the curtain from Joffrey's bed away, to create a dark space for her to enter.

_He's going to think I'm crazy,_ she worried, then assured herself she was being foolish by thinking that.  _I must be confident. I'm an older girl, a goddess. I am above and beyond his wildest dreams, s_ he told herself, renewing her confidence.

However, her heart was still racing faster than ever, as she crawled onto the feather mattress. For a brief moment the moon shining in allowed her to see the gold fabric, softer and finer to the touch than she anticipated, then the curtains fell shut behind her, the blackness taking over. She crawled in the dark, to him, in the warm safety of under the canopy. Anxiety swarmed her stomach as she moved through the giant mess of soft feather duvet and silk sheets and stumbled a bit over the obscene amount of pillows.

She knelt before the lion king's small frame, nestled in the blankets. In the dark, she could make out some features. This was the first time she ever had seen him without his crown. It made him look smaller, younger, for some reason. When the low roar of thunder rumbled the castle, he remained sleeping soundly, unaffected by the storm.

His chest was gently rising and falling as he slept peacefully and she listened to his soft, subtle breathing. It was remarkable to see him like this, so calm and quiet. All the burning hostility was now melted away, leaving such an innocent little thing.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out his sharp, angelic features. It would be immoral to rupture such peace. He was too beautiful to disturb, so instead of waking him up for a ride, she slipped under the duvet, warm with his body heat, moving very carefully.

_This is_   _insanity,_ she couldn't believe she was actually here.

Margaery cuddled up to him, only to discover he was wearing nothing but boxer briefs. The rest of his teenage body was exposed to her; his skin was warm to the touch and very soft, like a child's, not at all like Renly's.

Her arm snaked over her chest, his muscles were subtle and boyish and the feeling of such skin to skin contact was intensifying the ache between her thighs, but she ignored it.

His skin was hot against hers and he smelled vaguely like body heat and sweat, but even that too was turning her on. Again, she pushed the dirty thoughts away, as she rested her head down onto the goose feather pillow, leaning gently against his shoulder.

It was not just thoughts now, but a physical aching feeling. Her core cried for his touch so intensely, she was leaking through the thin fabric of her gown. Margaery knew she had to do something. She could never go to sleep like this. Her initial thoughts, just having him right here, up against her, would be enough to cease the edging, aching, wanting lust, but it, unfortunately, it was not.

She craved more. She longed for the feeling of him between her legs, driving into her. She wanted to feel him filling her up, filling her insides. She was so wet for him and he didn't even know it.

After some internal debate with herself, she finally cursed herself and slid her nightdress up her thighs, the smooth feeling of the silk fabric blankets against her pubic region made her shiver and tingle. She felt herself getting swollen and wet, starving for release.

Margaery began to rub her fingers over her clitoris, breathing out loudly in the quiet darkness, at the intense pleasure. She imagined it was Joffrey's juvenile fingers, moving over the sensitive area in place of hers, as she squeezed her eyes shut. She spread her thighs open wide, as she used her other hand, slipping her middle and ring finger, between the folds of her slick, shaved cunt, pushing deep into her tight, wet, untouched hole, causing her to gasp at the sweet ecstasy.

What made it so hot, was the fact she was in King Joffrey's bed right pressed against his warm sleeping body, and he had no idea. This is just the kind of dirty little thing teenage boys imagine, a girl sneaking into his bed, she imagined his head would explode if he were conscious to see this.

She would expect him to wake up and fuck the daylights out of her. Turn her around give it to her rough, the way she liked it. If he choked her, she would gasp like a good girl. No matter how hard he slapped her ass, she would moan and sigh for him, arching her back like a bow.

Margaery threw the covers off of her, and pulled her dress all the way up her body to reveal her milky breasts, as she rubbed herself, her exposed nipples hardening in the air.

The feeling of Joffrey's smooth, warm side, against her reminded her he was very real, and right next to her, not just a fantasy, as she touched herself. She rubbed her clit, softly with her fingertips in a circular motion, as she pumped her two dainty fingers in and out of herself, swift and efficient, but still quiet and careful enough not to wake him.

She wanted to moan his name because, in her mind, it's his virgin boy fingers, so innocent, yet somehow so skilled. He's never touched a girl in his life, yet now he's now rubbing her tenderly and expertly. She tried to refrain from making too much noise, to ensure he stays asleep, but she breathed again loudly in the dark warmth.

Margaery's fingers worked faster over her clit and drove in and out of her tight hole, as deep as she could reach. _Joffrey's fingers were longer and thicker,_  she wished he was awake so badly. The sensation of her fingers was growing unbearably amazing, before she exploded in absolute ecstasy, the warm tingling feeling began overtaking her body in waves of intense pleasure.

She squeezed her eyes shut, as she climaxed, her fingers never ceased moving as she imagined Joffrey's perfect, smooth cock, driving into her, filling her entirely to the brim with his Lannister seed. She bit down on the blanket to refrain from moaning, inhaling the intoxicating scent of him.

The ecstasy seized her for a few heartbeats longer before the throbbing, warm feeling of her core gradually began to die down.

For a moment, she lay quiet and still, breathless in the dark.

Joffrey's soft, even breathing, let her know he was still asleep, as she shifted to get comfortable in the blankets, a little smile plastered over her rosy cheeks. To be honest, she was pretty amazed he didn't wake up during all this, as she recalled all her breathless sighs in the dark, and rapid movements.

She couldn't wait to see his reaction in the morning when he wakes up and sees her sleeping in his bed.

Under the soothing patter of rain on the roof, Margaery snuggled into his warm shoulder, his skin so smooth and bare against hers. And like the king beside her, it didn't take long for Margaery slip off into a peaceful slumber.


	5. Bluebloods

**V**

All the rain had stopped just an hour before the pale sun began to creep up in the sky, bringing a subtle heat with it. The air was wet and refreshing, leaving a misty overlay of dew on the southern land, and scattered puddles of water collected in the crevices, glimmering with iridescence in the waking sunrays.

The sunshine fought its way through the thick beige curtains hugging the window, irradiating the room with golden rays, the fresh daylight bringing the room to life after a long stormy night.

Birds sang and called to each other by the stone windowsill, still gently dripping with rain.

This active, chirping sound tugged the young Highgarden beauty out of her pleasant night's rest.

Upon slowly fluttering open her big blue doll eyes, a sudden sense of panic twisted Margery awake and she sat up quickly, as she forgot where she was, her brain trying to work through a daze of sleep; all she knew was she wasn't in her own bed.

It wasn't until she saw the king, still asleep next to her, that the relief finally washed over her, coming to the realization of where she was. She recalled her little mission last night.

Last night, it had been so dark she couldn't make out the details of her whereabouts very well until now. The bed she was on was ridiculously enormous and could comfortably fit about five more people. It was closed off from the rest of the room, protected by a thick scarlet canopy, with long hanging curtains, pulled shut.

It was dim, however, some sunlight still managed to creep through the fabric allowing her to see the mess of blankets and pillows moderately well.

Margery's eyes returned to Joffrey, to watch his bare chest gently rise and fall with even, unconscious breathing.

At all times, Margery admired his looks and adored his soul. Even when he raged, and roared viciously, dark shadows overtaking his powerful scowl, her heart would still ache for him.

 _He's not mean, he's just misunderstood, s_ he truly believed she could justify his actions. There was more to him than everyone thought.

There was never a time where she didn't think he was beautiful, inside and out, though undoubtedly, he was purest when he slept.

When he was still and quiet, sleeping like this, she could analyze the sharp angles of his face without having to worry about him catching her eye.

She took in his high cheeks bones, prominent under the falling shadows. His golden bangs fell in wisps over his forehead, and she could not refrain from running her fingers through his soft blonde locks.

Laying back down on the pillow, she gazed at her sleeping love, as she stroked his hair. They had been together for hardly a few weeks and she already knew there was nothing more she could ever want.

Margery knew the others could never see him for what he truly was: a lost, pained young boy. They couldn't see through his layers. That was alright, with her though, he could be her perfect, little secret. It was just the two of them, alone in the world. She could be the one and only girl for him. She adored this idea so much—she's the only girl her understands him. The only one who could see straight through his superior, egotistical outer shell, to what's lying underneath. See that he's not truly evil at all. She could see his true self. Just a frightened little boy, who had no idea what he was actually doing; Just a pained soul, crying for help.

Tyrion had revealed to her a few days prior that his father had failed to show him how to rule a kingdom—or showed him anything, she presumed. It was evident his childhood was corrupt.

She snuggled up to Joffrey, against his warm, smooth shoulder, and the feeling of his hot, exposed flesh against her made her stomach stir with butterflies.

The feeling of being in bed next to someone reminded her only slightly of laying in bed with Renly. Even just this simple contact with Joffrey was better than anything she had ever had with Renly. With her previous husband, there was minimal skin to skin contact and he hadn't cuddled or snuggled or shown any intimacy to her hardly ever. She knew Renly had never been interested in her, always leaving her untouched and forgotten. In fact, he wasn't interested in the company of any woman.

Now Margery lay, blessed in her new king's private quarters, thanking the gods for how good things unfolded for her.

She snuggled into her sweet king, further, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck, as her fingers continued to run through his soft hair, his silky gold locks slipping through her fingers with care.

For some time, Margery continued to caress him, savoring every breath of this precious moment. She wasn't sure how long it had been, but as she dozed off to the sound of the birds chirping, and water dripping on the sill when she finally felt Joffrey began to stir beneath her touch.

She noticed how his breaths came more frequently and he shifted slightly, as he regained consciousness from the long night's sleep.

Margery's heart began to race as she started to think of what she was even going to say to him when he asked why she was in his bed. She slightly distanced herself, gently wriggling away from his waking touch, as her courage began to leave her all too quickly.

_It's okay. I'm practically his wife. This is completely alright. Don't freak out._

She held her breath, as his wispy lashes slowly fluttered open to reveal his giant blue eyes.

Margery expected him to jump away, startled and angry, with her random presence, but when Joffrey gently turned his head against the pillow to look at her, his eyes possessed a child-like innocence as he blinked at her with confusion.

"Margery?" he mumbled, his voice husky with sleep.

"I'm sorry, my love," she apologized, firstly, her voice sweet and passionate. She pulled the duvet up over her chest, "I didn't mean to intrude."

"Am I dreaming?" he asked with a sleepy smile. She was so glad to be here, to see his first smile of the day.

"No my love. This is real," she returned that sweet smile, as Joffrey stretched out on the mattress, beneath the blankets, seemingly unbothered she was here. This was far from the reaction she was expecting.

"When did you get here?" he continued to mumble to her, in his sleepy, raspy voice.

"The storm woke me, late, last night. I woke up frightened by all the noise, and the shadows..." her voice trailed off as she averted her eyes, up to the red canopy above. She appeared like a lost, helpless, little girl for a moment, but inside she was amused by how innocent she could sound if she tried. Although her words were true, she exaggerated that emotion of fear to her advantage, "You make me feel safe."

She knew she chose the right words from the subtle look in Joff's eyes. She never failed to catch anything.

He shifted awkwardly under the blankets, and she couldn't tell if it was intentional or not but he had inched slightly closer so that they were nose to nose in the captivating warmth, his breath tickling her nose.

"So just like that, you walked into the king's chambers to lie with him?" he tried to get the story straight, his tone laced with some pleasant surprise. He seemed interested and excited she had disregarded the rules, willing to bend them with risk, for her own satisfaction, similarly to him.

"I knew you wouldn't say anything," said Margery, confidently, as she wriggled closer to him, so their warm, bare legs brushed together.

"Of course I wouldn't," he scoffed, his words jumping excitedly at hers. He didn't pay any mind to the new physical contact.

"I didn't think it would be such a big of a deal anyhow...considering we're about to be bound together for life, in less than a moon."

"It's a stupid rule, really," he agreed.

They listened to the rustle of noise out in the hall, just beyond his door, and suddenly Joffrey looked slightly unnerved.

"If that sound turns out to be my mother, coming to wake me, we're in for a headache," he groaned, shifting strangely under the duvet again. He made sure there was a small abundance of space between their bodies, and Margery wasn't about to bypass it.

Their legs were no longer touching, and Margery began to regret crawling into his bed. She decided, maybe she was being intrusive. She could sense the discomfort radiating off him, but that could be from a number of things: he could be worrying of his mother, or still confused with sleep, or maybe he's got morning wood he doesn't want her to notice.

"It's alright. I was just getting up anyway," she said throwing the blankets off herself to expose her long slender legs to him.

Joffrey's eyes wandered across them.

Without thinking it out thoroughly, she spontaneously leaned her face forward and pushed her lips into his, catching him off guard.

At first, as their tender lips met, he tensed instinctively at the sudden contact, and it seemed after tasting the significance of her mouth he began to kiss her back, harder, with passion.

His lips were soft and moved against hers perfectly, as he read her movements before they happened. Seemingly effortlessly, he kissed her in a way she had never experienced in her life. He kissed her the way girls would dream of. It was a wanting, empowering kiss, that made her feel as if they could conquer the world together, solely by the power of this kiss. His mouth brought her to life, and with every passing second their lips worked together she felt herself descending further into her infatuation.

Joffrey's irreplicable kiss was a promise there was no other girl in the world that meant what she meant to him, and she cherished the feeling for a moment more, before ripping herself away from his captivating hold.

* * *

Sansa Stark was a long way from home. If anyone were to watch her for only a moment, it would be clear to them that she did not belong here. She spoke, dressed, and even moved differently from the rest of them, sticking out awkwardly and out of place here, in this foreign southern land, among the heartless bluebloods.

The Starks were nothing like these people. They were humble and noble, and Sansa knew she stuck out like a sore thumb in this endless sea of snobs and spoiled brats. Her family was never rich. They had made a decent living, with an authentic, woodland life in the north before relocating to the capital—hell.

At first, King's Landing was a warm, golden utopia.

Sansa had never seen the ocean before. It was more magnificent than she had ever imagined. She remembered the intense feeling she felt, the first time she ever laid her eyes on it. How her heart seemed to stop as she lost her breath, standing on the soft, hot sand, before the glorious, collision of land and crashing foamy waves.

The air was warm here. Warm enough to wear freeing clothing, that exposed the skin in a careless, exciting way.

It gave her a chance to try things she had never before, like attend extravagant balls, drink fancy wine, and converse with socialites.

It appeared beautiful and luxurious, here, with the promise of eternal happiness in paradise, but it was all just a secret trap. The golden city, glittering like a medallion on the Blackwater Bay, was cursed with a dark shadow, under this infamous reign of Satan.

She swore to herself, no matter how long she is here, no matter how much this underworld strip away from her, she will never lose her roots. They can't take her memories. She will never forget the north.

Though her heart was sad, and it seemed there was nothing left to live for, she still somehow continued to hold her head high, walking among them, her smile on the outside, no different from the rest. On the inside, she told herself she must be strong. It was the only way to survive.

She stands now, in the crowded throne room, gathered among her new flock of court ladies, like sheep, as the king held court.

 _Spoiled brats. Spoiled rotten to the core. All of them,_ she couldn't help but think as she scanned over the herd of rich, gossiping women, the noblemen gathered around the throne, the lioness queen standing over her prized cub, the king himself.  _Especially you, twerp._

 _I hate you,_ her glare stopped on that boy, that demonic beast of a boy, who had clearly crawled up on the throne unrightfully, from the seething depths of hell.

"You dare come here—waste my time? With your insignificant problems?" the demon was suddenly speaking her common tongue, barking at a trembling, hungry peasant who stood kneeling before the throne.

His feline mother laughed her icy laugh, and Sansa felt herself laughing too on the inside, at these corrupt, immoral people.

 _What in the Seven Hells am I still doing here?_ She thought and found her eyes wandering directly over to her answer.

The only reason why she could still smile. The beautiful Highgarden rose, still striking as the day they met, Margery Tyrell stood at the front of this cluster of women, huddled by the outskirts of the throne room. Margery was the closest of the women to the throne, so she had the best view of the king. It was hard for Sansa to see her through the collection of bluebloods, but she caught a glimpse of her pure face, glancing back through the tangle.

Their eyes met for a breathless moment in time, a moment that seemed to pause the world around them. Sansa's heart raced as the Tyrell's eyes pinned her in place.

"You disgust me!" The king voice polluted their peace, causing Margery's gaze to rip away from hers. "I can smell you from up here!" His cutting voice cracked with youth.

Everyone seemed to watch and listen so attentively, so carefully, and Joffrey loved it.

"You're lucky I'm feeling nice today," he muttered, glowering down from his throne.

 _Nice._ Sansa found herself struggling not to laugh with amusement. She wanted to laugh obnoxiously loud, mock him in front of the crowd. She couldn't bring herself to do it though, after a flicker of thought she had decided it might be unwise.

"Instead of having your prick cut off, we'll just take your ear this time."

Did she hear him correctly?  _His ear?_

All the life in the room reacted with agitation, a collection of shocked expressions and tense murmurs and whispers.

"Which'll it be? Left or right?" Joffrey inquired brightly, then chewed his bottom lip excitedly with his sharp fangs, his bright eyes scanning the unsettled room with joy.

Sansa could see the smug look on his face, through the whispering ladies, she knew he only did this to put on a show and unsettle the water. He lived to see the look of horror on their faces.

"Your grace, please," the man speaking was suddenly not a man at all, his voice trembling with terror, as he broke down on the floor before the throne.

"Silence!" The king bellowed against the peasant's pleading tone.

Before speaking again, Joffrey looked around to make sure everyone was watching and listening. Sansa watched his eyes land to the beautiful, garden rose, and he gave her a smile.

 _Don't smile at her,_ Sansa thought protectively. He was going to consume Margery, trap her in the shadows. Sansa's heart ached. It made her anxious to know that he could do anything he wanted with her at any time.

"Your king asked you a question!" Cersei piped up, feeding into his little game. She smiled darkly beside her boy, and for a moment, they were indistinguishable from one another.

Lord Tywin was absent in court today, allowing Joffrey to get carried away with things. He was like a dog off its leash, running rampant with power. It was only his mother there to advise him, and the gods knew she wouldn't.

"Left or right!" Joffrey demanded, sharply slamming empty goblet against blades, forming an armrest.

"Please, your grace! Anything—anything but that! I'll—I'll do anything!" His sobs were painful to listen to for Sansa, but they were only irritating the young king.

"Shut up!" he roared, chucking his goblet into the helpless man's head. "I'll just have to take both!"

The court whispered again under the intensity of it all, but no one dared to speak out against him.

Sansa wanted to scream at the king, call him an abomination to the throne, but she wanted to keep her ears. She thought of the courage of her brothers. She knew Robb wouldn't be afraid to bite back, or Jon. Her father was never afraid.

The sadness would have overtaken her right then if her mind was able to wander. But she was drawn in by the intensity of this all, not that this was anything out of the ordinary.

She couldn't peel her eyes away as one of his hulking, brute of a guard, strode over to the frightened peasant with no hesitation, for a brief moment everyone seemed to hold their breath, even the beggar, as the only sound was the shuffle of his long guard cloak and steel boots, moving across the floor, then the sharp lick of him extracting his dagger from his belt.

"No! Please!" The man's crying voice cut through the silence as if he just remembered it was his blood that would be shed. "Left! Left ear, take the left one!"

The guard seized the screaming man's head in a powerful grip, bringing the blade to the flesh of his right side.

Sansa could not get a good view through the huddle of whispering girls; most of them were covering their eyes. She could see Margery at the front, with the best view of all, watching strongly, without reluctance. Sansa didn't have time to ponder the girl's evident fascination, as the sharp slice of tissue followed piercing screams of a man in agony filled the room, causing everyone to wince and begin talking to one another frantically.

"Now the other one!" The demonic king ordered, roaring over the screams and talk.

The guard did as he was told without question. This time, Sansa couldn't hear the slice, but again there was another series of tormented screams, a few of the girls around her gasped with fright, covering their eyes.

Margery's back was turned to Sansa so she couldn't see her face, but she noticed how the girl didn't wince at all as she watched the whole thing, front row. Sansa thought, perhaps Margery wasn't fascinated but rather desensitized from it.

Sansa didn't see it happen, but she heard as the man collapsed to the floor, most likely unconscious from blood loss.

"Get him out of my sight," Joffrey snarled a pure look of disgust on him and his mother's faces. "I don't want him bleeding out on my floor."

Sansa glared at him with mirroring their looks of disgust, wishing at that moment she could slice his ears off with her own blade.

"We had it polished just yesterday," he laughed merrily, looking to his mother for compliance.

Cersei laughed along beside him, but Sansa did not fail to catch the true look of fright eating at her, beneath the thin layers of her false, see-through smile.

The guard obeyed without a word as the fiends laughed, throwing the unconscious, bloody peasant over his shoulder, dousing his cloak with the rich scarlet, dripping along as he left the room.

Sansa could faintly smell the coppery scent of blood in the air, as the people continued to murmur.

"Alright, settle down," the king addressed the room, smirking at his sheep, flashing his white, gleaming fangs at the girls, then directly at her. Sansa's stomach dropped as his wicked gaze landed on her. "That's enough fun for today," he said merrily, still looking at her through the mess of it all.

Instead of holding his gaze, Sansa fell into the disbanding crowd, finding her way to Margery through the tension.

The Highgarden had remained in her place, up front, where she had been the entire time, still surrounded by a few shocked court ladies, as Sansa approached.

"Your grace," Sansa said respectfully, as Margery's blue eyes caught sight of her own. As she curtsied, a few of the brattier girls looked at her with sour expressions, as if they wondered what she was doing here, and she wondered that too.

"Please, my dear," Margery said, stepping forward, out of the huddle of bluebloods. "Call me Margery."

"Margery," Sansa echoed, so relieved to hear her soothing, delicate voice after the harshness of everything.

The other court ladies expressions twisted with disbelief—they could only call her by 'your grace.' What truly disturbed Sansa, was the fact they seemed more unsettled by her presence here among them than the gruesome violence that took place before their eyes, just moments ago.

"It's more intimate don't you think?" Margery continued towards her so that she was the main area of focus, "To call each other by other first names?"

Sansa soon forgot all scornful eyes in her gracious presence. She was close enough to touch, smiling warmly at her, promising everything would be alright. She smelled richly of vanilla or gingerbread—something sweet Sansa could not exactly pinpoint.

"It is," Sansa agreed.

She admired her, but not in a common way younger girls would look up to the older ones, striving to be like them, following in their footsteps as they enter womanhood; it was in a way that was subtle, uncertain of most things, but positively certain that nothing would go wrong in the grasp, Margery. It a way that reminded her of all pure sweetness this world had to offer.

"Did all that frighten you, Sansa?" Margery inquired, her eyes searching hers.

The other girls stood back, talking amongst themselves as their soon-to-be queen spoke to Sansa.

"It was rather unpleasant," Sansa admitted, her eyes wandering over to the shiny puddle of blood on the tile. However, she had seen many unpleasant things since coming here. "Did it frighten you?"

Margery laughed her sweet exciting laugh, as if she said something brilliantly witty, and the exciting sound prompted a smile from Sansa.

"You should never allow things to frighten you, my sweet, that's where all the power comes from," she was suddenly speaking eagerly, with a certain passion in her voice Sansa found difficult to forget. "Without fear, you are finally free."

Right then, Margery truly was a goddess.

Her words seemed to reach out and touch Sansa, encouraging her to be stronger, and hold on tighter. They brought her hope. They made her realize the truth, realize there was a way out. She would not allow fear's grip to have it hold on her any longer.

The words Margery spoke truly stuck with her, and they flowed through her mind on repeat throughout the rest of the day.

That night, for the first time since her father's death, Sansa was able to slip off into peaceful, long-needed rest, without waking once in tears, the whole night.


	6. Porcelain Dolls

**VI**

It was another hot morning. The sun cooked the salty land and bounced off the black bay in reflecting gleams. The sand was hot, closer the shore it was wet and soft, kissed with foam and sloshing cool water. A collection seagulls squawked among one another, balancing on the sharp, slippery rocks jutting out of the crashing waves.

Sansa, the little dove, picked her way along the shore, the cool ripples licking at her toes. The hem of her dress was to her mid-calf, allowing her to venture, barefoot into the bubbling tide. It was a plain, gray dress, the shoulders were cut out fashionably, to present her fair skin to the hot, beating sun. There were with no patterns or ruffles, it was an utterly simple garment the prissy, blue blood snobs would certainly not approve of. But she didn't care. For a moment she felt an emotion that resembled freedom.

Life here was much more enjoyable as a court lady. Although Sansa had only been a servant for a few days, it was a dreadful experience, having to wash the backs of rich old men and change the chamber pots of every room on the first through fifth floors of the east wing.

Yes, being a court lady was better than a handmaid, however, it was a tricky social game in itself. In this sorority of girls, she must always look and speak properly. A court lady is expected to attend every event—public speeches, festivals, royal balls, and parties, even weddings in neighboring cities. The ladies were also expected to help the queen with anything she needed and although some of them attended the queen regent, Sansa was assigned primarily to Margaery, the sweet little rose, who would soon become the queen consort.

Today, was Sansa's day off, though. This was a day where she could do whatever she pleased without a shred of worry. She didn't have to read literature, or work on her embroidery, or attend court, or practice ballroom dancing. Instead, she could have time to herself to think, perhaps have a lemon cake or two,  _or three_ , and maybe go riding in a few hours when the sun begins to climb down from its peak.

Sansa shielded her eyes to peer across the beach and up the steep grassy cliffs, where an open, whitewashed tea house overlooked the water. A salty wind graced the coastal prairie lands, whispering over the tuffs of milky grass.

She made her way down the stretch of hot sand, and as she grew closer to the teahouse she could make out the unmistakable, slender figure of Margaery seated among some women. A few guards lingered around them, conversing with one another along the outskirts of the cliffs, keeping an eye on the ladies as they walked.

Sansa only stood, troubled among lashing tall grass, by hesitation. More than anything, she wanted to climb up the hill and go say hello to Margaery, but she was intimidated by the abundance of snobs that stood between them. She knew they would glare at her, with their scornful, privileged expressions, somewhere between the fine china and frilly lace. They were cold girls, heartless and completely made of porcelain.

Sansa wondered why she feared these women. If they were porcelain dolls, she should be able to smash them all, to pointy little bits without a sliver of effort. She clung to this thought, seeking courage, as she came to the realization these petty brats weren't anything to fear, maybe morbid little things to wrinkle her nose in disgust at, but not anything to run and hide from.

She held onto her newfound courage, as she climbed the hill, towards her prized rose, tangled among the swarm of blueblood fiends.

* * *

The heat wasn't as powerful up on the high, windy cliffs, under the shade of the belvedere. Margaery sipped her tea among her peers, gazing out to the open sea, as a refreshing breeze sang through her chestnut waves.

She mostly listened to the chatter of the birds; the robins, and sparrows, as well as the daily exchange of gossip among her own birds, putting in a few comments here and there as the woman spoke of the latest fashion, makeup, useful, feminine hygiene tips, and boys of course.

"Pass the cream, please, Maerwynn," said Lady Blair to the brunette at the end of the table, with the white gold butterfly pin in her curly hair.

Her diamond bracelets jingled as she reached over the sugar and lemon puffs to pass saucer of cream down the breakfast table.

For a moment, there was only the faint sound of polished silver clinking with the fine china and the harmonic chirping of the songbirds.

Out here, it was serene, but the air was stifling this time of year, drifting in over the south in rugged waves, and Margaery couldn't seem to get her mind off it, her corset, damp with sweat, and sticking to her, certainly wasn't helping.

"It's hotter than the devil's crotch, out here," complained Lenore the, as if she read her mind—the small blonde one, sitting beside Margaery. With a butter knife, she sliced a tangerine teacake into two halves.

"It's even stuffier inside," Maerwynn said.

"Not if your room is on the second to the top floor and you keep all the windows open."

"Mine's up there," another girl cut in, then with a flicker of arrogance, she added, "Well, Ser Lancelyn's room is, and I stay with him nearly every night."

"Stay with him?" Blair teased with the raise of a brow, stirring some sugar in with her cream.

"Yes, do tell us."

"I want all the gory details."

The babes jingled as they moved in shining excitement, and oddly enough, Margaery failed to concentrate on this small talk. Her thoughts were clouded with heat, the temperature so exhausting, even while just sitting down.

She wore a lightweight dress, made of milk chantilly lace, sleeveless and cut open in the back and down the front in a V, exposing her cleavage area, leaving little to the imagination of a passing watcher. It was sexy and daring—in an elegant, goddess-like way. Though the material was thin, it was still uneasily sticking to her hot skin.

She truly just wanted to escape and take an ice bath, not sit in this blistering heat, squeezed into a tight corset, sweating off her face powder.

"He made love to me one time from dusk till dawn, under the stars, from up on his balcony," the girl said with dreams and stars in her eyes, suddenly, and all the little birds at the table, save Margaery, leaned forward in their tight corsets and lace doll dresses with indecent interest.

Margaery snapped open her hand fan in an attempt to relieve herself of this intense heat.

"Lemonade, your grace?" the young servant boy suddenly inquired from the outskirts of the belvedere, eyeing Margaery as she fanned herself violently. "It's freshly squeezed and ice cold," he said convincingly.

"Yes, thank you," she raised her cup up in the air, and he hurried over to fill it up with a pitcher from the cart. "Send for another tin of ice too, please."

The sound of the liquid splashing into her glass seemed to accentuate the dryness of her parched tongue.

"Of course, your grace," the servant boy said, his eyes faintly seeking her chest, "I didn't realize the all the ice had melted," and something about the way he said that pestered her. For some reason, the words came off risque, and even when he wasn't speaking, he was still rather irritating.

It was that certain look he was giving her. She knew it well. Margaery was eighteen years of age and by this point in her life, men were less difficult to read than books. It was quite funny actually, they usually all wanted the same thing. Their eyes would flicker with that familiar look, each of them had their own way going about it, but their intentions were always the same.

"He used his mouth on me, in a way no one else had before," the girl was still speaking of Ser Lance-whoever, while Margaery took a sip of cold lemonade.

"Tell us!" cried one of the girls, on the edge of her seat. "Tell us more!"

"He kissed me—licked me there...between my legs," the girl said, her cheeks pinkening a bit as she said it out loud. She hesitated, struggling to finally add, "He even...even fucked me with his  _tongue_."

A few gasps.

"What a vulgar thing to say!"

There was no heat hot enough to distract Margaery from tuning into  _this_ conversation. She hung onto her words and found herself imaging the feeling of a boy's tongue between her own legs, wet and warm, slipping over each ridge and fold of most private parts. Suddenly these thoughts were affecting her physically as her stomach tickled with new excitement, realizing this fantasy was very much in her grasp. It didn't have to be a fantasy, she had a boy of her very own to please her now.

She wondered in her lace dress, appearing like a goddess sitting among the angels, sharing cake and tea with this high-class flock of pristine young women, all while the tempting, dirty, thoughts beckoned her mind to come play in the shadows.

She imagined the thrill of being fully naked before her young king's virgin eyes. Something about just the thought of being fully exposed to him, revealing to the younger boy each and every delicate curve on her feminine figure was steamy enough to melt her own ice. How she would crawl up on top of him and ride his beautiful face, feel his slick tongue lapping and sucking at her wet folds, then when it cannot possibly get any better, he'll drive it inside her and fuck her with it.

 _Oh, Joffrey Baratheon. What an absolute dream,_  she sighed to herself. Their wedding couldn't seem to come soon enough.

"Oh look it's that northern girl," said Blair, drawing this immaculate, virgin Margaery from her secret, filthy, little imagination, to engage in the pleasant sight of Sansa making her way up the steep hill towards their teahouse.

The girls were too afraid to be outright mean to Sansa at this point, after being reprimanded several times, but Margery did not fail to catch the subtly patronizing looks they gave the girl as she reached the steps.

"Sansa, you sweet little lamb, what are you doing this fine morning?" Margaery spoke first, kindly among the sneering aristocrats, as she surveyed the windblown redhead.

Sansa beamed at her, not giving anyone else her bright eyes, blue as the clear summer's sky. Her crimson hair was loose and tousled with the seaside wind. She reminded Margaery of a mermaid, firey and glowing in the amber sunlight.

"Your grace," she gave a polite curtsy, graceful as anyone could be, "I was taking an early walk along the beach. I didn't realize there was a breakfast planned."

"There wasn't," smirked Lenore, "it was a spur of the moment type of thing."

"I see," Sansa's eyes shyly averted to the ground. There was a biting silence, then their leader was speaking again.

"But we're so delighted to see you," Margaery chimed in, taking up a dish from the stack. "Please, sit and join us. There's plenty of lemon puffs and cold lemonade. Don't you just love cold lemonade on a hot day? I adore it."

The silence drowned in over them again, as Sansa hesitated to answer. Margaery noticed the sour looks the girls gave the younger as they assessed her dress.

"Alright," Sansa finally sighed, "But only because lemon is my favorite."

Sansa attempted to take a seat in the only open chair, at the other end of the table, but Margaery objected.

"Come sit beside me," she said, then looked to the girl beside her and raised her eyebrows as if to ask why she was still sitting.

Without saying anything, the girl scrambled to her feet moving in a flow of powder, and ruffles, collecting her teacup and pastry dish as she circled around the other side of the table, and Sansa, the sweet little thing, took her previous spot beside their queen bee.

"Lemonade?" Margaery smiled, warm as the day.

"Yes, thank you," Sansa nodded, and a sharply listening handmaid hustled over to fill her glass.

"And don't worry, they're on the way with more ice now," said Margaery delicately as she fanned herself, speaking in a tone that seemed to even intrigue the rest of them, "There isn't a care in the world."

She watched Sansa take a slow thoughtful sip.

"Mmm. Delicious," she critiqued.

"It's fresh as the day is hot," agreed Margaery placing down her fan, and it seemed her words inspired everyone at the table to take a sip of their lemonade too.

"I bet you're not used to this kind of heat," she continued, touching the redhead with her compelling eyes.

"Not at all, your grace," Sansa smiled again, her cheeks flushed from the warmth, the little red framing curls around her face, stuck to her skin with a light sweat. "I miss Winterfell, dearly, on hot days like this."

"Take a dip in the ocean," Margaery's eyes drifted to the sea, reflecting in the shimmering endless blue. "It's so close..."

"It is, isn't it," Sansa's gaze fell outward as well, and for a moment they shared the gorgeous view of the eastern sea.

"You know, I had never seen the ocean before coming here," Margaery looked back to the younger girl after a brief moment of silence between them.

"Me too," Sansa said, her voice jumping with excitement. "I had never even left Winterfell before coming here."

The other girls huddle together confidentially, chatter quietly amongst themselves. Even though Margaery couldn't hear what they were saying, she had the basic idea, as they faintly eyed Sansa, who hadn't noticed.

Between the heat and the rising tension, Margaery was beginning to grow frustrated, but she wasn't about to cause a scene. She was going to use a more subtle approach.

"Your dress is so lovely," Margaery was suddenly speaking to Sansa delightfully. Her fingers grazed the smooth material of Sansa's sleeve, who was turning warm in the cheeks under her subtle, delicate touch.

"Thank you," Sansa replied, blinking her innocent blue eyes.

"I love it," Margaery beamed at the girl then turned, smirking to the rest of the ladies, and asked no one in particular, "Her dress is just so lovely, don't you think?"

"Yes, very chic," agreed Blair, immediately in compliance. A few other good girls nodded, but Lenore was always the one to stir the pot.

"It suits her well. A simple dress, for a simple girl," she sneered from beside Margaery, and the other little birds gaped at her, surprised she would go so far.

The air shifted with stress, and the heat only made it that much worse. The only sound was the unsettling clink of their teacups and spoons as they waited and listened for Margaery's reaction.

Between the dreadful heat and the heartwrenching expression on Sansa's face, Margaery was infuriated to a degree she didn't realize was possible, and it even amazed herself, how she managed to keep her composure.

"Your tongue is so sharp," she turned to Lenore, with withering, hateful eyes yet she spoke in a practiced, calm voice. "Didn't I warn you to use it with caution?"

The tension was heavy. Not one of the girls said a word, they all listened attentively, with wide anxious eyes, Lenore especially,  _the little brat looks like she's about to cry._

"Now, I have to make an example out of you," Margaery continued unmercifully, glaring at the girl, her burning eyes beating her down into a senseless form.

"I'm sorry," her voice struggled through the heat. "Please, your grace."

Her pleas came out in breathless cries, the girl was already hysterical, a quaking, jingling mess her ruffles and glittering diamonds.

Sansa did not protest. She only watched Lenore, with cool, serious eyes.

"Guard, here now," Margaery was impatiently snapping at one of the guards hovering by the steps him with her dainty fingers.

The heat was making her morbid.

She was clammy and uncomfortable, until another quenching gust of wind from the ocean whirled in, over the prairie lands.

Margaery lost her words as her eyes wandered outward, where seemingly out of nowhere, she spotted the blur of her golden king, glittering like a citrine gemstone in the pale expanse of milkweed. He prowled across the prairie lands, towards belvedere, his guards following in his lead, their white cloaks sailing in the crisp, salty wind.

Margaery turned back to look at the girls, who had also noticed his grace's incoming presence, and they shifted in their squeaky wooden seats, unnerved by the tension of it all. Sansa only _now_  was discomforted, solely by the fact Joffrey was approaching, as she peered at him with tense, unhappy eyes.

Margaery fixed on Lenore again, the little brat was now trembling in her lace, her makeup running down her cheeks in wet, black streams, as the hulking guard loomed over her.

"Please, please don't," she whimpered pathetically.

She appeared so helpless and weak under the shadow of the giant guard, cloaked with white and gleaming steel. Margaery did not feel even the slightest twitch of mercy for this  _vermin._ She would ensure they fear and obey her after this.

The other girls, including Sansa, watched in shock as Margaery gave the guard a slight nod of the head, and he seized the young lady's jaw roughly with his steel gauntlet. Just the strength of the great brute and cold steel was enough to bruise her soft, tender flesh as he held her struggling head in place. He drew his dagger from his belt in a sharp whisk.

The girl had no words for herself, only loud, pained wails of protest, fighting against the man's powerful grip.

"Bring the blade to her tongue," Margaery ordered, at this point, Joffrey was close enough to the rest of them to hear what they were saying.

He seemed intrigued by all the terrorized screaming, and he peered over with fond curiosity as he neared them.

The gleaming blade pressed teasingly against the girl's tender tongue, as she sobbed miserably, tears blackened with makeup streamed down her sweating, messy face.

Margaery watched contently, sipping her on her iced lemonade until Sansa finally had enough.

"Wait," Sansa objected, showing only Margaery her timid, blue eyes. "I think we can spare her this time."

_She can't handle it. What a fragile little thing._

Margaery sighed, then looked to her guard, "You heard her," motioning him off the traumatized court lady. "I think it's safe to say she's learned her lesson," she chuckled sickly.

The girls looked around at each other, some of them in shock, some amusement, and some completely unaffected, as the king and his guards ascended the steps into the teahouse.

"Ladies," Joffrey smiled as he approached the girls, flashing a sharp smile at them. A thrill passed over all of them, as each of them smiled back at him, except Sansa, whom he eyed for a tormenting, long moment, the greater half of them trying to not to blush at the young king standing before them.

Some of them were frightened of him, the more corrupt bit of them, found his supremacy attractive and they disregarded his willful, hellish bits and swooned over him sinking to her knees with the rest of them.

"Your grace," the women answered sweetly, like perfect little angels, almost completely all in sync.

Joffrey was impressed with their obedience. The breeze seemed to pick up with his presence.

"My queen," he chewed his bottom lip as his eyes found Margaery's somewhere among the flowers and teacups. She loved how he addressed her solely, apart from the rest of them.

"Joffrey, my lovely," his name had a delightful ring to it, perfect on her sweet, singsong voice. She addressed him as if they had been lovers for many years, or long ago in a previous life.

_He always looked so cool._

In these rugged waves of heat, he was refreshing as that cold drop of water, running down the wet, tin ice bucket, collecting at the soaking seams of the table cloth.

The way he looked at her, did indescribable things to her. He was giving her that look, that familiar look of a starved boy. This was an easy face of his to determine, Margaery knew it all too well.

The male species were not such a complicated breed to her, yet, the one man who mattered, the one whom she would spend the rest of her days with, was far different than most men—than  _any_  man, she had ever met. He could replicate the way of a casual man, but in a crooked manner, a way that revealed to a common watcher he is a tad off in the head.

Yes, he could put on a show and appear as ordinary as the rest if he wanted to if he's feeling to be well behaved at the moment. But there were times when he did things that seemed could bring no good in any way possible. Things did just because he could. Some may say these _things_  were destructive and immoral, some people hated him for these actions, the greater half feared him for it. But she knew he was just playing the game.

Not one of these tortured souls of the capital could justify any reasoning behind these actions. No one could find an answer. Not even his mother. Not one living, breathing soul, but _she._

 _Joffrey was just misunderstood._  Yes, to the common eye, he came off as this mad, power-crazed monarch, but she knew the truth. Margaery had an eye for people. She could see what others couldn't. She had a talent that made it easy for her to see right through thin their layers, the thin layers of humanity, see right into their soul.

Unlike most people,  _he_  was a challenge to read. But at recherché times, he would reveal to her what lied beneath the cold exterior. She swore to herself she was not naive for being able to see the innocence in him. She truly believed the 'unjust' bits of him was simply the product of his upbringing, a product of all the heavy, obscene power being harnessed all into a shiny little crown dropped and landing crooked atop the lost, straying child's head.

Some may say his moral compass spun in the wrong direction, but she could see past all this foolishness.  _Who even has the ability to decipher morality anyway? The words 'good,' and 'bad' are such black and white, absolute words. He's too complex to label with just one word._

_Joffrey simply did as what he must and now he's winning the game._

Some may say even she is corrupt, twisted in the head, but she didn't let that stop her from thinking the way she thought. She was just doing what she must to survive the game too.

Joffrey crossed the belvedere, advancing on his queen in a romantic gleam of blonde and gold. His crown glittered in the sunshine as he stood before her, beaming down at her with his pristine, sharp teeth.

She stared with wonder, then his hand found hers from her lap, squeezing it tenderly in his own, before drawing it to his mouth to grant her a gentle kiss.

_How gorgeous._

Although she wanted to, she didn't flush under his compelling stare. She remained tall and could feel all of their eyes on her, watching, dazzled with interest, all but Sansa, who watched with an odd look of unsettled confusion. There was visible tension between her and Joffrey. Margaery looked back to him.

"Are you able to join us for breakfast?" she blinked up at him under her long lashes, never letting go of his hand.

He laughed quietly, down at her, making her feel almost too eager for a moment.

"And crash your tea party?" he joked, and all the girls laughed, except Sansa. "Is there even room for me?"

"Of course there's room for you, sweet king," Margaery chimed, surveying the packed table. "There's always room for a gem like you."

"We normally don't allow boys at the tea table, but we're delighted to have  _you, your grace.._ " Maerywnn, the curly little brunette, swooned over him and beside her, Sansa rolled her eyes.

Joffrey sought her gaze, but said nothing in return, only smiled smugly, wearing his ego outward as his crown.

"Lenore..." Margaery turned to the brat beside her, then in her sweetest voice said, "Leave now, before I change my mind and rip out your tongue, my dear."

The girl, a smudged mess, didn't have to be asked twice as she abruptly tore from her seat and rushed from the scene.

Joffrey laughed again, his high voice jumping with delightful amusement, seemingly impressed with his betrothed's behavior. She would be lying if she said she didn't eat up his approval. _It was just so delicious._

"That wasn't necessary, dear Margaery, I don't believe I'll be staying long," he said, and she sank a bit in her seat.

"Why not?" she pouted. "There's no other place else to be, but here, looking out over the world."

He watched her with fascination, his eyes blue enough to take a dip in and cool off.

"Margaery, my goddess," said the king, yanking her to her feet by their joined hands, "Come walk with me."

She cast a look over her shoulder to Sansa, who was staring with bewilderment, "I'll be right back," she sang to her, and Joffrey turned his head back too, his prowling eyes flickering with interest as he watched this subtle interaction between the two girls.

Margaery then smiled to the other ladies as she followed him from the teahouse out onto the windy coastal plains.

He took up her arm, lacing it around his own, once they were out a few paces in the grass.

"I didn't realize you and Lady Sansa were so close," he said in a low tone, his eyes hunted her.

"Oh, yes, I just adore her. She's the sweetest little thing," Margaery retorted.

"Yes, she is, isn't she..." Joffrey trailed off, it seemed he was wrapped up in thought.

Margaery wondered what he was thinking about. If he wanted to be vague that was fine, she wasn't about to bother him for an answer. She peered back to the Red Keep, a glorious sight in the distance.

"I've never seen a more beautiful place in my life," she said dreamily, in her sweet, fragile voice, the kind of voice a man could not forget.

Joffrey said nothing but he watched her carefully, so fascinated by the graceful way she moved and talked, and how she looked at him with her charming, serene eyes.

Even she was aware, she had a way of no other girl.

Margaery clung to his arm, as they trailed along the warm, grassy cliff, the guards following from a windy distance, to allow them to speak in privacy.

"Tell me what's on your mind, darling," she sang, tenderly squeezing his arm, as they neared the edge of the cliff, overlooking the gray lapping waves.

"It's not all that important," Joffrey admitted, suddenly looking unsure of himself, his eyes averting off to the eastern sea.

"Anything you have to say is important, my love," Margaery gave his arm another squeeze, her voice was soft and intimate this time, promising there was no one else in the world she would rather be with. "Always."

The infamous boy king processed her words for a moment before a rare, sincere smile crossed his face. She knew it was sincere, by the look of serenity in his usually glowering eyes. Her words had found a way to touch him and it was a blissful feeling.

"Sometimes I wonder how you're even real," he said with an effort, seemingly throwing himself off guard more than her, with the sweetness of his own words.

"Joffrey," when she breathed out his name her heart throbbed, and she turned to meet his crystal eyes. The thought of what he just said tickled her stomach with swirling excitement.

The air had undoubtedly shifted heavily between them. Her heart started to race like it always did when he would start talking sweetly to her. When he would look at her, it felt as though he could see straight into her soul with those transfixing blue eyes.

She wanted to tell him how good it was to hear him say that, how just that thought of him made her tingle on the inside, but instead of spluttering and gushing to him, she decided it might be more effective to  _show_  him instead.

In one faint motion, Margaery tipped her head forward, gently, to close in the lack of distance between their lips. Nothing in her life had ever occurred so gracefully. Together, they moved in absolute sync as if their mouths were made for each other, as if it was their fate was to kiss at this very moment over the rippling sea and under the billowing puff of white clouds.

Everything about this felt right, his perfect lips were soft and warm, always eager against hers, and they filled her with excitement and life. He grabbed her and took her, pulling her to his chest.

She loved it when he would push against her and force their warm bodies together, their heartbeats pounding, anxiously, until falling into sync with one another, and mingling into one. His inviting arms snaked around her waist, forcing her snugger against his front side, as he deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue into her hot, wet mouth.

The way he kissed her, made her forget his age, made her register his natural talent for kissing. The boy may be inexperienced but he knew how to use his mouth.

He kissed her in the only way he knew how.

And she drank him up.

Her tongue slipped between his soft parted lips, plunging into his wet mouth to grace him, the very taste of sweet desire, driving her further against his thumping heart.

Kissing this younger boy, a golden gem in this summer's breath, was so surreal it seemed like a dream.

A breeze blew Margaery's dress, her skirt was flowing and rippling white waves of lace in the air, and they never ceased their kiss. Their hungry tongues danced together with a gorgeous passion, feeding off each other's excitement.

She thought of her court ladies, sitting back at the belvedere watching them kiss over the ocean. She didn't fret over their expected confrontation, she simply let go, let go of all worries and concerns, relaxing and melting into the warm, tenderness of his lips.

The stirring feeling in her stomach traveled south, as his mouth left her's, only to plant delicate kisses over her jaw, traveling down her throat in a hypnotizing, sensual way. She tilted her head, leaning into his soft, intoxicating lips.

"Mmm...Joff.." she found herself sighing, delicately, breathlessly.

The feeling was so arousing, and she cursed herself for getting so mesmerized by just the warmth of his touch and the softness of his lips.

It was nothing but an innocent kiss yet it had gotten her wound up so quickly she hated herself for it.

_Was it the sensation of the kiss, or was it the fact it was him?_

When his lips left her tingling skin, he wrapped her in a warm, sentimental hug and she had her answer.

 _It was undoubtedly him,_ she thought, embraced in a blissful, free moment in this dark world, as they overlooked the ocean.

Margaery felt complete at last with him. He was her missing piece she knew it. He was all hers and she was going to be his Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The world was at her fingertips.

Margaery pressed her nose into the soft flesh throat and inhaled his clean scent. With her arms laced around his torso, she breathed him in deeply until there was nothing left in her lungs but him.

"You know, I brought you out here to talk, not make love by the ocean," he suddenly said.

"Oh, that sounds gorgeous," she sighed dreamfully.

He laughed and she looked out to the glittering water, then back into his eyes. "Tell me, my king."

Joffrey hesitated, his arms were still draped around her waist, and he looked off to the sea for a moment.

"I can't stop thinking about it," he finally admitted with his eyes still averting, stressfully sighing as if he disgraced himself for feeling a natural emotion.

"Thinking about what?" Margaery leaned back to look into his eyes, knowing damn well exactly what his thoughts consisted of. She presumed he couldn't stop thinking of their intimate little encounter a few days back.  _Intimate was a gentle word._  She hoped it stirred in his mind at night, keeping him up until he finally had to relieve himself just to get his mind off her. She anticipated it might be unquestionably fun to tease him. The tickle in her stomach and spot between her legs jolted with that sweet fire.

"The feeling of my mouth?" her eyes seemed to hypnotize him, causing his mouth to fall open, in subtle shock. She knew without a doubt, he never had expected her to say that. She loved the tingling feeling she got when she threw him off. 

"Or the feeling of my hands...around you?...Or my warmth in the night?" She didn't give Joffrey a chance to think or say anything. He only stared, mesmerized by her aggressive nature. "Are your thoughts something along those lines?"

He blinked incessantly, taken aback by her words.

"Well, I—" he struggled to come up with something to say but his attempt was unsuccessful as he was more caught up in the feeling of as her hands, which had unraveled from his embrace so her fingers could caress down his chest, lovingly.

"I'll touch you again if you want, my sweet king," she said faintly to him, leaning in close enough so his shallow, excited breath, could warmly ghost over her face.

She was impressed with herself. It seemed her words were turning him on, as well as her fingers, running teasingly up and down his abdomen, before playing with his belt buckle.

"My big..thick...king,” she teased the golden clasp, driving him over the edge with this seething tension, "..I just want to...to taste you again."

"M-Margery," he stumbled over his words, all hot and bothered now, "We can't. Not here," his voice came out husky.

It hadn't occurred to her until now, he probably had many things to do and places to be so they would have to play another time.

"My, dear.." she noticed she had turned the boy on so much to the point where it was  _visible._ She gave him a wild, exciting look of the eye. "You're absolutely right, your grace," she taunted, address him with abnormal formality, "It's far too hot out here, a bit too much in the open if you ask me."

He smiled, again fascinated by her beauty and words, and still clearly all wound up. "I'll pay you a visit tonight," his words said, sank into her pounding chest.

"I'll wait up for you."


	7. Érotique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July :)

**VII**

Regardless of whether Sansa felt anything for Margaery in the past, at this point in time, it was undeniable she felt that gorgeous feeling now. It was that one youthful, sentimental feeling. You know the one, the fluttering, twinkling one you get in your stomach somewhere between childhood and the teenage years, when your flourishing heart has sought something new and shiny and has completely latched itself onto its very essence, finding nothing in the world to beat for.

This series of new emotions stirring through her now was absolutely nothing like the little crush she had on the king all those moons ago.

 _What's wrong with me?_ Sansa thought as she lit the last candle in the row of flames along the windowsill. A saline breeze blew in from the sea and her eyes wandered outward.

The view from up here was perplexingly beautiful for such a hellish place. The pink and lilac glow of twilight seeped at the edge of the starry sky. Not long ago at all, the sun had sunk below the ocean, and the moon stole its spot, nestled in the billow of silver clouds, shimmering white as a freshwater pearl.

She tore her eyes from this breathtaking sight to something, somehow even more bewildering, the beautiful rose, submerged in the steaming milk water of her tub. Her skin was pinkened with heat, and her youth nourished from the cream blend.

"Bergamot and rose, my love," sang the young thing with a precious smile, motioning to the vile of oil and flower petals along the polished edge.

"That sounds heavenly," Sansa said matter-of-factly as she moved forward, over the goddess, trying to maintain her cool gaze while fighting the urge to peer down through the glass transparency of the fogged water. Her prize was so close, a bat-of-the-eye away, but she remained well behaved. Margaery followed her with her eyes in a personal way and Sansa wondered to herself with hope if this sweet feeling was mutual.

It felt that way, but then again, Margaery had a romantic personality; she had an intimate way, able to make you feel like the most special person in the world just by the sweet rise and fall of her delicate voice.

Sansa plucked the cork off the bottle and tossed the rich, fragrant contents into the ripples of milk water.

"Mm," Margery sighed pleasantly, closing her eyes and relaxing back against the tub as the crisp citrus and floral aroma seeped into the steam.

She leaned back just far enough to kiss the threshold of exposure. Sansa found herself staring with uncontrollable interest, seizing this opportunity of her closed eyes. Sansa had never before thought she was attracted to women before this very moment. The girl inched out further, slowly, seemingly taunting her as her red engorged nipples came visible above the steaming water.

Sansa's eyes followed the curve of her now exposed breasts; steaming drips of water rolled down her tender flesh, pinkened with warmth. The glowing candlelight romantically bounced off her gleaming, wet skin.

Sansa realized it had been silent for too long. Her mind raced for something,  _anything_ to say to her.

"How is the water?" she finally put into the quietness.

"Delightful," Margaery answered calmly, opening her bright sapphire eyes and slid up, leaning forward out of the water in a way so both her slick bare breasts were now completely visible to the younger girl.

"Care to join me?" she laughed.

Sansa wasn't sure what was more exhilarating; the thrilling swing in her voice or the arousing sight of her nudity, but both of these beautiful things beckoned and tempted her to strip completely bare and slip into the steam beside her. An internal voice urged her not to get too ahead of herself. Like many other times in her life, hesitation struck her willfully, and she considered the idea Margaery could be very well just playing around.

Sansa's feelings must have shown on her face because the older girl suddenly let out another merry, exciting laugh.

"Maybe another time then?"

"Y-yes, next time," she answered with an effort.

"That's quite alright," Margaery's voice was delicate as a white violet. "I'm short on time tonight, anyhow," her eyes wandered out to the dark window, flickering with the flame's dancing shadows as a dream overtook her.

"Why's that?" asked Sansa.

When she turned back, there were stars in her eyes.

_What is that look? I wonder._

"Promise not to tell?" her voice was a wild tonic in the steam.

"I swear to the old gods and new," Sansa's words jumped, the anticipation biting at her. "Tell me."

Margaery bit her lip excitedly, holding onto her little secret for just a breath longer.

"He's coming to see me," she whispered with romantic aesthetic as if she had just revealed to her the very meaning of life itself. Although she was vague, Sansa knew exactly who  _he_ was. The only  _he_  in her life now and ever will be.

"King Joffrey, protector of the realms and my whole heart," she sang out innocently with a laugh, like a love-struck little school girl.

Irritation distilled in Sansa at the thought of Joffrey's rough, dirty paws feeling up her sweet little rose. His fondling touch polluting her skin with sickness.

 _What in the seven bloody hells does she see in that demented fiend_?

"He's coming to see you?" There was a rising urgency in Sansa's voice."For what? It would be indecent at this hour."

"Indecent?" Margaery echoed and ironically stood from the water, shimmering and dripping wet, the steam radiating off her clean, bare skin. As Sansa took in the divine, completely nude figure of Margaery, she lost her train of thought, then lost all concept of just about everything, except for the peculiar sensation of throbbing, aching desire.

All in a few heartbeats worth of time, Sansa debated grabbing her right then and kissing her. She imagined what it would feel like to touch her slippery, hot skin, running her hands up and down her slender, feminine curves. Her body was impossible.

"Y-yes," was all Sansa could manage to muster out.

She retrieved the towel for her future queen, and before Margaery wrapped it over herself, Sansa's eyes wandered to her womanhood. It was the most sacred part of her, save her soul; it was smooth and shaved bare and water droplets still dripped from her tender and pink lips, glossy with the warm rose and milk-water.

Sansa's own slit throbbed intensely with need. The sexual tension was growing almost as unbearable as the wet, pounding ache between her legs. Then, the sudden infuriating thought crossed her mind, that in a short amount of time her delicate little rose would be roughly taken and pounded by Joffrey. She knew he would be anything but gentle with her; he would squeeze and slap and throw her around.

_I'll kill him._

She scrambled to think of a way to prevent this tragedy from happening but she came up with nothing. It was inevitable. There was absolutely nothing she can do but watch as he fucks and abuses her throughout their remaining years together; unfortunately and eventually impregnate her, cursing this slowly decaying world with more unnecessary malevolence of Lannister spawn.

"You must be a virgin when you wed him," Sansa pointed out desperately.

"And I will be," Margaery scoffed and this time there was a metallic coldness to her voice. With her clean fingers, she scooped a glob of cocoa butter from a silver jar and rubbed massaged it into her hands.

Her distance was foreign as ever.

"Not after tonight," Sansa challenged, as delicately as she could muster, watching the girl rub the butter down her legs, allowing her towel to droop.

"Well, it's a good thing nobody will ever know."

When their gaze met between the twilight, Margaery's eyes were eccentric; so quickly, she seemed to have slipped right between Sansa's fingers, further into the darkness. The shadows of firelight tangled and danced over them as a breeze swept in from the sea.

Suddenly the idea of Margaery and Joffrey having sex didn't seem so bad, in opposition to now, as she stressed over Margaery's overall detachment from her. She wanted Margaery to like her, and she knew there was no way she could come between them.

There was another series of unsettling, thumping heartbeats before it registered with Sansa it was her turn to react. She wanted Margaery's happiness above anything, so she just let go.

"Who would want to spoil the fun anyway?" she laughed with a nervous jump in her voice. She hoped compliance would be enough to settle the edge.

However, Margaery didn't pay any mind to her words at all; her towel had slipped down and she had begun massaging the butter over her breasts.

 _Is she trying to tease me?_  Sansa wondered if this was a game. Everything she said and did just felt so personal. Sansa considered the possibility she could just be overthinking things. As her personal court lady, it was her duty to attend Margaery. She knew these cool older girls would bathe together without thinking twice—so why was it so sexual for her?

Sansa must have been looking at her funny because Margaery started to laugh softly at her expression.

"It keeps them perky," she clarified.

"Does it really?" Sansa glanced down to her own chest.

"I think so."

There was another pause of silence, this time much shorter. Sansa didn't want to overstay her welcome.

"It's getting late," she sighed, casting her gaze out to the sea one last time.

"Sansa," Margaery's eyes sought hers through the fading steam, as she took a few paces towards her. She found both her hands and held them in her own.

The psychical contact melted Sansa into a puddle and she struggled to conceal it.

"It will all be okay," her voice was a song and Sansa had to follow the sound of it for a moment. "Have beautiful dreams, my darling."

"Y-You as well."

"Goodnight, dear."

* * *

It was late. It had to have been quite sometime after midnight when Margaery began to doze off. She had been propped up in her goose feather and silk duvet, reading by the candlelight with a bottle of rosée when the rain had picked up again.

Her suitor arrived in the dead of the night, silent as the fall of snow, slipping into her chambers like a shadow amid the wavering candle flames.

It was the gentle, soft squeak of her door that had awoken her. That sound, the exact one she had been waiting so impatiently for all night, had finally drifted into her sleeping subconscious, tugging her out of her rest.

The sleep was eating her brain and with an effort, her eyes open for a blurry second of dim flickering light to shadows on the wall, they closed heavily, then opened again, this time catching the active silhouette among the shadows in her peripheral.

Briefly confused from sleep, she strained her eyes to in the gloom to see who or what this shadow was, to figure whether it was even real or not, but just as her vision was beginning to adjust, there was a swift rustling movement over her before the candle snapped out, the soft light fleeing all too fast, as the new curtain of absolute blackness took over.

All in a heartbeat's worth of time, suddenly fear had her in its grip. Her mind was hazy from sleep, but the gears started to turn, and as the events of earlier today and tonight slowly but all came back to her at once.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, it seemed to sink into the rest of the world. There was a sudden shifting of weight on her bed, then things slowly started to make sense. She was a different kind of frightened at this point on, now that she comprehended exactly what was going on.

Margaery wanted to say something and at the very moment this thought occurred to her before his name could even leave her tongue to stray out in the dark, cool air, he had beat her to it.

"Yes, it's me."

God had answered her in a whisper.

He had read her mind. His excited voice stringing like a harp in the dark, under the pattering fall of rain, was impossible but it was precisely right in front of her. It all felt like a dream, and she sat up in her bed, only to come face to face with her shadow prince.

She could hardly make out the shape of him, but he was close enough to kiss, in the cool blackness, his breath was a warm ghost over her face, promising  _he_ was very real and  _this_ was very happening.

There were millions of things to think about.

She knew what was about to happen. in the next few moments, they would deflower each other and as anyone could imagine, her mind was racing frantically; it was a surging storm of emotions, a nervous excitement of flustering lustrous lust.

There was a light sadness in her heart for the loss of her innocence, but soon remembered it was for a good cause, under the gentle graze of his warm, tickling breath.

"It's you," her echo was a whisper too.  _It's always you._

Her eyes had adjusted to the nightfall, the moonlight seeped through the window catching the drifting, floating dust and made his wispy blonde hair appear white as an angel's. His eyes were crystal balls in the luminance of starlight and he breathed with life, his soul inevitably mystifying her, no matter how close they trained together.

Then he kissed her in the blue dark.

She blossomed beneath his touch of soft youth and diamonds rings.

He was making her crazy.

He had appeared to her in the night like a phantom, and Margaery, drunk off his dreamlike presence, could faintly taste the irony on his lips; the subtle tonic of gin.

The only sound was the roaring fall of rain on the palace. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

For a secret moment, they were nothing more than two kids, kissing in the dark. The thrill of misbehaving was enough to hook her, let alone the tender feeling of his lips, warm and oddly gentle against hers.

There was a feeling that sang in her heart, it was beautiful and indescribable and she thought it might be love.

In one motion, he moved between her legs and while leaning his whole weight into her he pushed his tongue into her mouth as he went. The feeling in her heart spread like a bolt of lightning straight to her core, with newfound arousal. His diamond hands, glimmering in the starlight, weighed down on her shoulders to pin her against the mattress.

He had never been over her like this. He smelled so good. The feeling of his weight pressing against the aching throb between her thighs was so good.

There was power in his grip and she could sense the thrashing, howling dominance he was struggling to keep under control.

_It'll spill over soon._

His thirsty tongue sank deeper into her mouth as if he wanted to devour her. He was growing more restless by the second, the aggression in his movements and touch was only a glimpse of what was boiling beneath his surface. Amid the exciting passion of breath and touch, a physical intimacy had established itself between them.

The sound of rain was heavy on the roof, as she pulled him closer to her, her arms coiling around his neck, as she let her fingers play and curl through his soft golden locks. She traced the outline of his ear, making the boy shudder under her sweet touch.

It seemed as though, whenever she could get a reaction out of him, it provoked him.

Through the confusion of kissing and touching one another, he gathered her wrists and pinned them over her head in the pillows, squeezing them tightly in his grip.

He had leaned his body so far into her, she could feel the hardened, throbbing excitement stirring beneath his layers of black.

His kiss was growing rather sloppy with that magic, first time excitement; the wet hotness of his mouth tangling with her own hungrily.

And although this would be her first time too, his sloppiness made her think of his age and for some reason, it was suddenly so hot how much younger he was than her. Margaery was so turned on by the way he was holding her down like that, pushing his tongue deep into her mouth.

It surprised her how good he was at using his mouth at his age, with such a lack of experience.

 _And his hands_ , she thought, as one held her wrists tightly against the bed and the other one found her thigh to grip and squeeze it roughly. The forcefulness of his touch was making her so wet, she began grinding herself against his addicting hard on. She had to have more. She imagined the sweet ecstasy of him driving it into her.

"Joff," a thrill passed over her as she moaned out his name, right now in the dark, when his tongue left her mouth to tease the sensitive, delicate flesh of her throat. The arousing, stiff feeling of his boner pushing against her throbbing core was becoming too much to stand.

She wanted Joffrey to fuck her so badly. She moaned, leaning her neck into his warm, wet mouth. He licked her skin slowly, and it was such a gorgeous, sexy feeling she noticeably shuddered beneath him. He licked her, running his tongue gently over her tender throat then sucked on her for a couple of moments allowing a pinkened spot to form before his pointed fangs nipped at her fairness, sending chills down her spine.

"Touch me," she suddenly whined, forcing herself further against him.

"Touch you?" he echoed in an innocent voice, smirking hotly against her throat, as his boyish fingers rubbed and squeezed the soft, sensitive flesh of her slender thigh then trailed back up the curve of her hip.

The throbbing, burning feeling of need between her legs was growing unbearable between the share of his mouth, fingers, and cock.

"Joffrey, touch me. Pleaasse," she couldn't get this whining tone to leave her voice and it seemed to entertain him.

When he laughed softly in the dark, she could see his teeth, white and sharp, catching in the glow of moonlight.

"I want to feel you inside me," said Margaery.

This, however, grabbed his attention, as his eyes flashed with dark, desirous excitement.

All too quickly, he seized the hem of her nightgown and slipped it up, past her hips, exposing her throbbing, wet cunt to the cool open air and his excited virgin eyes.

A shock of lightning, shrieked through the sky, causing them both to jump, followed by some low, rumbling thunder.

"Wow," he breathed, staring at her most private part with fascination and although it tickled her stomach and core, turning her on further, she felt oddly shy beneath his gaze.

He had never been up against a naked woman like this before and he took in the erotic, pleasing sight of her pink, swollen cherry. She fought the urge to cover herself with her hands and took a breath to just collect herself, but he was already pulling the rest of her gown past her stomach and up over her chest, so it was in bunches around her neck, revealing her nice perky set of tits to him. She was completely naked, her whole body on display just for the king.

"My goddess," his low, growling voice was hardly a whisper as his hungry eyes swept over her pale, bare breasts and shaved cunt, wet and slick with throbbing, aching lust.

She felt so shy and exposed under his appraising eyes, and wanted to hide under the blankets but Joffrey was still pinning her wrists against the bed.

She could only wriggle beneath his grip. Her skin glazed over with gooseflesh and her nipples had hardened in the cool exposure.

Joffrey was mesmerized by her female body parts as his free hand met the soft curve of her breast, making her sigh at the tender contact, and began to caress her at first his fingers explored her, gently moving over her soft flesh. Then, when the excitement bugged him, he squeezed her whole breast in a tight handful, getting rougher with each passing breath.

Margaery gasped sharply when he pinched her hard nipple, rolling the sensitive, red bud between his thumb and forefinger. He lowered his head so his lips could meet the soft flesh of her breast. He brought his mouth to kiss her skin once, then twice, then he squeezed her nipple tightly between his fingers, making her gasp again and cry out in the dark.

"I'm going to have fun with you," his edge voice was a warm, tickling breath, fanning over her nipple, then she felt him close his soft lips around it to suck on the hardened rosebud.

Margaery craned her neck to look down so she could watch him. It made it that much hotter to  _see_ it happening; his tongue and lips working around the sensitive bud.

She was throbbing with need as she tried to relax into the hypnotizing feeling of his mouth when suddenly he bit down hard on her, and she cried out sharply in the darkened room as his teeth sank into her, with a sharp flare of pain.

She knew he was into the way he hurt her; she could feel his layered erection pulsing against her bare cunt as she cried out in painful pleasure.

"Do it again," she whispered when she could see the look of thrill on his face. "I know you can bite harder than that."

His eyes found hers in the leaking starlight for a moment of silence, as it registered in his head he had just found his soulmate. He watched her with amazement as if he had never seen a living, breathing girl before.

This time, his mouth found her other breast and he teased her hard nipple with his tongue, making her sensitive bud slick and wet before biting down on it with a sharp, stinging pinch. His mouth was made for sex. As he squeezed and massaged her other breast roughly, he continued to suck on this one, and occasionally bite it, just to softly laugh to himself when she gasped and cried, his breath tickling and warm against her flesh. They were still grinding together, the feeling of his hard-on rubbing and rolling between her smooth, shaved lips, and against her engorged, tingling clitoris was so intensely good she could probably orgasm if they just continued to do only that.

She suddenly wondered why he wasn't naked too.

"Take off all your clothes," she whispered.

She was dying to undress him herself, but her wrists were still bounded in his grip.

Joffrey's warm, inviting mouth left her wet nipple in the cool air to look up into her eyes.

"A little bossy, tonight, are we?" his edgy tone and hot breath ghosting over her chest made her flush pink and wriggle shyly as she struggled to maintain her cool composure.

"And really wet too," she added smartly in a low voice, as she rolled her hips against him.

He smirked.

_I love that face._

"Stretch me out, my king," she pleaded in this sweet, tempting tone. She fanned her legs out further so every bit of her wet, glossy folds could grind against the expensive fabric of his black garment. His boner pulsed against the sweetness.

The king bit her again, really hard this time, making her yelp in pain, and to stroke the flames, he pinched her nipple tightly, squeezing the sensitive bud until her eyes glazed with tears.

"Well," he ran a hand, tenderly down her front, "if you insist," his fingertips teased over her lips, stroking up and down over the tenderness a few times, before he began to gently rub her swollen clit, teasingly slow, in circles, causing her to gasp and moan with pleasure.

"Joffreyyy," she whined sexually, bucking her hips against his hand while the other still held her in place. She could feel the ridges of his diamond rings rubbing against her sleek, wet folds, and without any warning, his middle finger sank into her tight, wet entrance.

She gasped as a small part of him entered her, two thick, diamond rings on this finger made it a tighter fit.

The look on his face was priceless as he explored this new unfamiliar feeling of the inside of a woman, the wet feeling of her walls squeezing his finger.

"You're so wet," he said matter-of-factly, extracting his finger and examining the slick arousal coating it. There was blood too.

He must have broken through completely or at least part of her maidenhead.

Margaery found his gaze, mortified, but he merely smiled at her giving her an enormous sense of relief.

He didn't seem bothered at all and he brought his face back up to hers to french her. Before their lips touched, their tongues did out in the air, and it was so hot she thought she might explode with arousal.

Their tongues tangled together in a wet, steamy collision, while his fingertips continued to teasingly trace the outline of her tender lips and then faintly over the sensitive clit, stroking her only a few times, making her whimper with each time, then he took his fingers away to tease her and watch her squirm with need.

"Please fuck me, Joffrey," she whined, thrusting her throbbing, wet pussy against his stiffness. "Please."

He smiled at the sound of her begging, his expensive fingers left her wet cunt throbbing and untouched, as he squeezed her juicy asscheek.

"I  _need_  to feel you, my big, sexy king,  _please_ , Joff," she begged, praying her sweet talk would appeal to him.

He smiled at her with his gleaming pointed teeth, loving every bit of the pleading want in her voice.

"Let me make you feel so good, Daddy," she continued to coax him, and his eyes flashed wildly with excitement.

"Daddy?" he echoed, she could see his bright eyes and fangs only, then he leaned into her mouth, pushing his tongue to the back of her throat. His fingers had generously returned to her aching, pounding cherry.

Margaery spread her legs wide for him, so his adolescent fingers could explore every crevice of her sweet spot, she for a few hypnotizing moments of ecstasy, she melted into the feeling of his fingertips rubbing her tingling clitoris.

_How is he so good at this?_

Some more thunder rumbled in the distance.

Joffrey suddenly bit down on her bottom lip, and she gasped and winced at the sharp, piercing feeling. He bit hard enough until she whimpered and yelped in pain, hard enough until she could taste the coppery tang of blood.

This time, two of his fingers dipped into her wet warmness and she moaned in pleasure as he began to pump them in and out. His fingers felt so so good as he fucked her with them, his jewelry was adding thickness.

His hand finally let go of her wrists, to seize her throat in a tight grip.

"I know you like it when I'm rough with you," he hissed violently in her ear, his fingers squeezing tighter around her fragile throat.

For a moment, it felt like he wanted to kill her.

She gasped as the air quickly began to leave her, as he continued to fuck her with his glittering fingers. She instinctively reached for his hand, tightened around her air support, but when her fingers met his cool skin, she paused. Her brain screamed at her to pry his hand off of her, but her heart allowed her to hold it, with love.

There was a glowing excitement in his eyes; she could tell her submission was exactly what he wanted.

There was no air left in her lungs and although she was beginning to get dizzy she remained calm, the feeling of his fingers suddenly rubbing on her tingling clit was rapturous. She caressed his hand with one of her own, and with the other, she stroked his down the side of his pale, angelic face. Her fingers ran sweetly over his sharp cheekbone. The morbid glow in his eyes softened at her delicacy, and his grip around her throat gradually began to loosen.

After extracting his fingers from her, he finally, let go of her throat and she gasped for breath.

"I...love it..rough," she panted, gazing up at him among the pillows and blankets. He was beautiful looming over her like this. The way the starlight and shadows fell over the angles of his face made him look like an angel.

He suddenly sat up and then there was only the metallic sound his gold belt clasp working in the dark then the sharp, leather lick when he whipped it off himself.

The nervous, tingling excitement ate at her, as she watched the glorious removal of his clothes. She couldn't wait to see him naked, and when she licked her lips, she could still taste blood on her lip from where he bit her.

After fighting through the expensive, top layers, Joffrey finally discarded his white undershirt, and his new exposure naturally turned Margaery on even more if that's even possible. Laying sprawled and naked on the bed, she surveyed his bare, pale shoulders and chest, taking in each ridge and line of his subtle muscles.

Now she could see, he was still just a cub.

Although his physique was on the boyish side, his shoulders were already broad, and he had a bit of muscle around his abdomen, and clinging to his biceps but she could tell in just a few years he would fill out more with age.

There were a few glittering chains around his neck, and shiny, thick gold rings on his fingers. Powerful fingers of a king, his cute, boyish, little fingers. She stared at them for a second as he worked the golden buttons his pants. They were still wet from just being inside her. There was something about his fingers that made her so fucking horny and she had no idea why.

Before Joffrey could continue taking off his pants, she reached out in the dark and coiled arms around him like a trap, pulling him in her naked embrace. She couldn't stand for them to be apart for another second.

Margaery started kissing him in the erotic tangle of their warm, bare youthful flesh and he just went along with it.

For a romantic moment, her arms laced around his neck, pulling his face close to hers so she could kiss along his jaw and down his throat while he struggled to get the rest of his clothes off with her clinging to him like this.

As soon as she heard the glorious sound of his pants coming off he pulled away from her.

"Flip over," he ordered, and just for just a second, she could feel the smooth, hardness of his perfect cock brush against her leg.

Before she could even react, he grabbed her tiny waist, squeezing her as he flipped her over himself, so she was on all fours facing away.

Up on his knees, struggling to balance among the pillows, he positioned himself before her spread legs; her pussy throbbed and ached under his gaze so intensely it was almost unbearable.

"Fuck me, King Joffrey," she whined, wriggling her hips impatiently.

She then let out a cry as he abruptly grabbed a tight fistful of her hair and jerked her head back violently, forcing her to arch her back like a bow. Her figure was immaculate, and the young king took a moment to himself to just assess every impossible curve on her goddess-like body.

"You are..." his low voice trailed off so he could run his hand, slowly down the steep curve of her arching back, then back up to squeeze the smooth, plumpness of her peachy ass cheek, "...all mine."

He slapped her ass, causing her to gasp at the sudden sound, not so much the subtle sting.

 _He doesn't even hit that hard_ , she thought to herself with concealed amusement.

However, she had underestimated the boyish force of the last slap, because this time, when his powerful hand came down to slap her ass it stung so sharply, she accidentally let out a loud, pained wail as she jumped against the hot blow.

"That's more like it," he spat, yanking on her hair again, so she would whimper and arch more.

She worried if they were being too loud. What if her cries could be heard through her bedroom door echoing down the halls? Or the sharp, unmistakable sound of him slapping her ass?

She imagined the king would handle it if someone interrupted them.

Joffrey slapped her in the same spot causing her to yelp again. It was beginning to burn. Each time he spanked her, the strength of his blows increased until tender flesh of her ass cheek was red and raw.

It hurt, but she didn't mind. She would let him take his time and have his fun. He had never played with a woman's body before and so he was obviously very fascinated with every delicate curve. He was seemed intrigued equally by the sexual aspect and the pain but his foreplay was pristine. Though, she wondered when they would get to the best part. She was dying to feel his cock stretch her out.

Finally, as if reading her mind, he let go of her hair, relieving so much tension from her scalp, to grip the sides of her hips with both his hands.

He squeezed her ass as he held her in place to guide himself in, correctly. Margaery felt the smooth head of his cock tease against her lips, but he hesitated to push himself in.

"Come on, tiger," she encouraged, in a low sensual voice, shaking her hips a little. The feeling was so slight against him, but it was so sweet.

She looked back at him and met his eyes for a second. In that one second, she could see whatever innocence he had left, draining from him. It was the loss of his innocence that she should have actually been worried about, not her own.

Suddenly, Joffrey slapped her ass another time, landing a painful blow, thankfully on the other cheek this time. She cried, jumping at the sting.

She faced back to the pillows, as he took her hips, guiding himself to her entrance. The head of his cock pushed between her soft lips, teasing her warm wet folds.

Margaery let out a pleasured moan as he fully drove himself into her tight virgin hole. There was some pain as he broke through her maidenhead. She could feel herself stretching around his thickness, but even just the first thrust felt so good and as he filled her with his length, pushing himself as deep as he could go. He felt so much better than her fingers.

"H–ohh my god," his voice came out with a husky crack, as the warm, tight, wet feeling of ecstasy squeezed around his cock.

Joffrey slid himself all the way back out, slowly, enhancing the feeling. For a moment she couldn't feel him anywhere. She craved his touch; she would die without it.

"There's more blood," he said without any emotion.

Margaery turned her head back around and saw her naked king behind her, standing on his knees, holding his bloody cock in his hand while examining it.

It was from the rest of her hymen tearing. She worried Joffrey would be grossed out, but he didn't seem to care too much. He was far from squeamish. In fact, he seemed even more fascinated by the blood than anything.

"Come onnnn," she whined, spreading her legs wider for him to see. Joff stared, mesmerized. "Come fuck me, Daddy."

In her reality,  _he_  was the _good boy_ , who let go of his dick to obediently grip her hips again and push himself back inside; the smooth feeling of his cock stretching her out was overwhelming her with pleasure.

"Mmm, Joffreyyyy," she moaned at this new, unfamiliar feeling of his dick filling her. She decided she was obsessed with this feeling as she adjusted to his perfect thickness. She loved that he was quite literally inside of her right now. She felt as if they were welded together or something. At the moment, he was weaved within the fabric of her own self.

Joff pulled himself all the way out of her, so the head of his prick could graze her smooth, pinkened lips for a half a heartbeat, then he slammed himself entirely back in.

Margaery cried out in half pleasure, half pain, at the harsh force.

Joffrey was so mesmerized by how he could make her cry and moan and whine with just his dick.

After he got used to what it felt like to be inside a woman he began to have fun with it.

He pulled back out, then grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back towards him, gaining a pained whimper and forcing her to arch her back.

With every touch, he grew more and more excited. She could feel it in every one of his movements.

More lightning snapped through the sky, illuminating the room for a split second.

He slapped her ass again; it was a wicked blow this time, causing her to cry out and tears jump to her eyes. She was sure her ass was bruised by now, but before she could think any further, he drove his dick back into her tight, wet hole.

She moaned more sexually than she realized she could, causing both of the kids to blush for a soft moment.

Joffrey was evidently excited by the arousing sound of her voice and he started thrusting his cock in and out of her, his grip tightening on her hair. Like a good girl, she didn't whine or object.

"Mmm, my king, fuck me harder" she moaned, arching her slender body for him.

He started to fuck her harder and she smiled to herself upon realizing the infamous King Joffrey was now taking orders from _her._

"Good boy," she praised him in a breathless pant, as his royal cock filled her tightness.

"I'm the king," he breathlessly complained, with a deep, penetrating thrust, "Not a boy," sounding very much like a boy.

"Yes, Daddy, yess. You feel so good," Margaery moaned in her sweet exciting voice, not paying any mind to his protest.

The pleasure was starting to drive her over the edge as his pace quickened. As he pounded in and out of her, his cock seemed to reach a particularly sensitive area inside her, there was an intense, tingling flow of ecstasy. Joffrey's harsh grip on her hair extended to the back of her neck, forcing her face against the bed.

While he continued to fuck her, he slapped her ass again; it felt like as hard as he could and she whimpered into the pillows. For a second it went completely numb. Then it throbbed and tingled, with stinging fiery pain. It was hard to focus on the pain though, with such intense pleasure at the same time. He was hitting that sacred spot inside her, a feeling she obsessed over and fell in love with.

She knew two things: She loved sex and she loved Joffrey.

The feeling was building, inside her, escalating with every powerful thrust. She felt she might explode. She knew she was about to reach her climax. As Joffrey continued to fuck her, hitting that sweet spot, she finally achieved that exploding, blissful feeling. The tingling electric began to overtake her in waves of pleasure.

He was perfect. His cock was made for her.

"Joff, don't stop," she cried out, shaking with ecstasy. The wet walls of her tight pussy squeezed around him as she climaxed and convulsed with pleasure. "Mmmm, baby..."

She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing white flashes as the waves of her climax washed over her, while he continued to fuck her. After a few breaths, she began to recover.

Still trembling, she struggled to turn back and look at him; she could only catch a glimpse of his bright blue eyes, glowing in the dewy twilight, before he roughly forced her face back into the mattress and her ass higher.

"Hold still," he growled, his grip left her neck to hold her hips. With her ass up and her legs spread like this, he was able to get in there deeper than ever. His cock was hitting that perfect sweet spot inside her as he fucked her harder and faster. His next words came out shaky, "I-I'm about to cum."

The feeling of Joffrey's cock, slamming in and out of her was such an intense, unique feeling and she had never felt anything like it before in her life.

"Where do you want it?" he panted.

She hadn't even thought about this part. To speak truthfully, she wanted him to finish inside of her. She wanted to feel his priceless, royal seed fill her up until it leaked out of her freshly fucked hole, and hopefully impregnate her with an heir. She thought it might be better to wait until they're married. She didn't want to bloat in her wedding dress.

"In my mouth," Margaery breathed, "I want to taste you again," she moaned, the feeling of him penetrating her was pure ecstasy.

After a few more deep, tingling thrusts, Joffrey pulled his slick cock from her dripping cunt and pumped himself while she swiftly turned around to kneel before him and take him in her mouth.

She could taste the sex on his dick, as she took him between her soft red lips, pushing him far back in her throat while her tongue moved around his shaft. The feeling must have been amazing because he moaned with pleasure when he entered the wetness of her mouth.

Grabbing handfuls of her hair, the king began to fuck her wet mouth violently but not for so long. Tears filled her eyes as she choked on his cock, but she was determined to make him finish off with a bang. He was ready to blow his load any second. She reached up, to tenderly squeeze and massage his tight ball sack as she took him as far back in her throat as she could handle.

Joffrey groaned, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as he finally reached that sweet release. His warm cum was drizzling down her throat and she even continued to suck on him, making him wriggle and moan more as she swallowed it all, sucking every last drop from the tip.

"You are something else," he sighed, breathlessly taking himself from her mouth.

Margaery collapsed into the blankets, exhausted from all the excitement. She was all sticky and hot, and she felt stretched out, but she continued to gaze up at him under the moonlight, admiring the love of her life.

"That was lovely," she watched the subtle muscles on his chest flex as he pawed through the blankets looking for his clothes.

"Yes, I had fun, sweetness," he said starting to get dressed but she really didn't want him to.

"No, keep them off," she objected, grabbing his hand, pulling him back down to the bed. "Lay with me."

Joffrey sighed and dropped his underwear, "I guess I will this time."

"Yay," she beamed up at him, as he moved towards her.

"But only because you're my little queen," he settled in the blankets beside her. "I don't usually listen to anyone else."

Margaery let out a cute, excited laugh and Joffrey was blank for a second before a smirk teased the corner of his mouth.

They snuggled together, under the continuous hail of rain. It didn't take long for the kids to fall asleep.

Joffrey continued to lay with her, even when the sky grew blue with the light of dawn. Margaery dozed in and out of sleep, her face resting against his rising and falling chest, listening to the soft thump of his heart and his faint even breathing.

Margaery may have been head over heels for him before, but now she truly felt this emotional connection with Joffrey. She knew she was beginning to fall in love with him. This was the real thing.


	8. Blood and Whores

**VIII**

 

The rain cooled into the late morning, over the flourishing orchard until it was just a damp mist, swimming amidst the undergrowth. The air carried an odd chill today, remarkably refreshing after yesterday's heatwave.

Sansa sat beside her queen under the dripping bare lilac trees, engaged in romantic conversation, both of them, wrapped in thick knitted shawls, draped over their summer dresses.

"If you're fond of plants, you ought to see Highgarden," said the young rose over a steaming cup of tea. "Twisted vines over all the architecture. Rosebeds and tulips lining the walks. It's really the most prosperous place."

Sansa wondered why she would bring up her homeland. Perhaps she had finally grown tired of the way it was here in hell and was secretly hoped and prayed to leave and return to Highgarden.

However, this didn't seem to be the case. The beautiful young queen appeared to be more than content in this colorful orchard, glimmering with dew. This little rose stood out among the flowers in the garden and Sansa had to admit she was easily the most beautiful one here.

"Do you miss your homeland?" She finally asked her lingering question, meeting the queen's twinkling blue eyes for a moment in time.

If she was going to be completely truthful with herself, there was something else drifting in on a billowing mass of clouds over her mind. She and the queen were pleasantly conversing, which was all Sansa could truly ask for, however, there was an impish wonder and question that had bugged her overnight and followed her throughout the morning, eating at her like a fever. She apprehended that simply springing into the interrogation wouldn't be her most suitable option.

Maybe it was the sensation in her heart or the electric tension between the two of them, but Sansa undoubtedly felt they were close enough to speak openly of things, that is, before today. Oddly enough, this situation, in particular, seemed so personal.

"There's nothing for me back in Highgarden," Margaery finally answered after some thought. Her wandering eyes turned out to the rosebeds as a dream surpassed her.

Sansa watched cynically as she paused to bring the china teacup to her cherry lips. For a moment she admired them. They were pouty and full, the same color as the generous clusters of peonies scattered here and there throughout the garden. She could only imagine the softness of her invaluable kiss. There was an imperative sadness tugging on her heart when she realized that she would never actually get to experience the strange, electric ecstasy of her kiss. It wasn't until then, she noticed the little red cut on the bottom of her lip.

 _What is that?_ Sansa averted her eyes before Margaery noticed what she was gazing it. She knew exactly what that was. _That fucking demon. He didn't deserve to lay a bloody finger on her and now he was hurting her?_

Now it wasn't just the jealousy that had been seething beneath her surface, thrashing and drawing at its chains below and fueling her hatred for Joffrey. Now that he was actually hurting her queen she wanted to slit his bloody throat. She was dying to know what had happened last night after she and Margaery had parted.

"The other night..." the words trembled on Sansa's lips when the older girl's eyes fixed on her own, evidently very interested in what she had to say if it had anything to do with  _the other night._

Her stomach was a whirling, fluttering mess, but she had to ask. The anger was boiling her heart, though she was trying her hardest to play it cool.

"He—Joffrey...didn't hurt you, did he?" Sansa's struggled voice came out with more urgency than she intended, but Margaery remained oddly unfazed. She still had that dreamy look on her face.

"Joffrey?" she scoffed as if something like that would be utterly impossible as if Sansa was just yanking her chain. "Heavens, no," she swatted the words away with her hand. "He would never."

Outwardly, she seemed very confident in her words, however, something made her feel that Margaery was trying to convince herself more so than she. Sansa wanted to laugh, but she wasn't about to embarrass her or be an outright bitch. It wasn't her fault.

"Are you positive we're speaking about the same Joffrey?" Sansa failed to hide her bewilderment.

 _He would never? He most definitely would, because he already has!_ Sansa didn't want to start an argument, but this was driving her mad. Although she didn't know Joffrey well, she had seen enough to conclude he was an unstable, demented sociopath with a chain of unpredictable behavior. _Margaery shouldn't be so naive._ Now that he had all this power harnassed at his fingertips he was manic. Sansa thought back to just the other day when he was obscenely sadistic for absolutely no reason at all.

"He's remarkably unpredictable, Margaery," Sansa objected  _putting it lightly_ , and there was a flicker of tension in the queen's eyes that made Sansa regret foolishly opening her mouth about Joffrey.

It suddenly felt as if the magical, fairytale-like aura glowing over the dripping, colorful garden began to wither and rot and curl into flakes of black and ash.

"You don't know him the way I do," Margaery insisted, her voice rising with defense. She was so caught up in this fantasy, it baffled Sansa. "No one does."

 _I'm not blinded by affection. I haven't fallen under his spell, as you have!_ She wanted to snap back so badly, but she knew it would only create more tension. The last thing she wanted was to push her lovely rose queen away, so she decided to just relinquish this dispute.

"I suppose..." Sansa's voice trailed off as her eyes wandered around the miraculous garden. "You've seen more sides of him than I have."

_At least I've seen the real sides._

It was hard to suppress the sound of aching defeat in her voice, but she managed to come up with a weak, little smile. This sweet side of him Margaery had fallen head over heels for was simply a mirage. Sansa knew it. She could somehow just feel it.

Margaery didn't say anything back to her, instead, she took another sip of tea. The air between them still seemed to hang heavy between them for a moment, before she decided to speak again.

"He wouldn't lay a finger on me, Sansa," she said, slowly, her blue eyes were cloudy and unreadable. "He wants to keep me safe. He loves me."

It amazed Sansa how sure of herself she seemed.  _She's brainwashed._ _It's impossible. He can't love anyone but himself. How can she be so blind?_

"Did he tell you that?" said Sansa cynically, raising her brow.

There was a flicker of agitation in the queen's eyes. "He hasn't said it with words..." Margaery then paused to think, to word this correctly. "He does love me. It's extraordinary, but I can feel it when I'm with him. I can see it in his eyes." She hugged the knit around herself, gazing up at the clouds in the sky through the tangle of mist and wet branches as if the answers were right up there. "Everything just feels so right...here...with him."

Sansa didn't even know what to say. The icy sadness had distilled in her heart, and she wished over and over things weren't the way they were. She hated these uncontrollable feelings she had for this young goddess of a girl and hated even more that she could do nothing more but watch as her little rose grew more and more infatuated with the sociopathic, teenage king every waking second.

Suddenly it wasn't sadness anymore, but jealousy and anger that overtook her in flashing red waves. She was so angry Margaery could be so naive to fall for such a lunatic. She was so smart it seemed so impossible to Sansa that she couldn't see through his façade.

"Well if Joffrey  _would never hurt you_ , what happened to your lip?" she finally addressed the glistening redness on the bottom of the queen's lip.

Margaery didn't say anything for a second, she just kind of stared at her before a subtle smirk tugged at her mouth.

"Oh, that? We were just playing," she laughed softly.

Sansa didn't know what to say. She wasn't surprised Margaery didn't care, and so she wasn't about to let this infuriate her any further.

"Playing?"

"Fooling around, you know," Margaery shrugged.

Sansa had finally come to the realization, maybe the queen was into that kind of thing. She seemed a lot happier engaged to Joffrey than she had been, for sure, so after a long sigh of defeat, Sansa figured if Margaery didn't care, then why should she. "I guess so..."

Sansa had never once mentioned or brought up what had happened with her father and the king. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew Margaery would side with Joffrey on the matter. She would always side with Joffrey, no matter what. It's a perfect example of how the system works. From what she could gather, she figured the little rose would be loyal to her king till the day she dies and would never speak a word against him.

Sansa pondered whether she should just stop fighting against the flow of things. Nothing she could say or do could change anything. Everything was just a confusing, messy tangle of jealousy and sadness and feelings. If she could just disconnect and let go of the tension, that would solve everything.

"You need to relax Sansa," Margaery said, getting to her feet. "I'm perfectly well. Just let Joffrey be. We're in their court now, but I'm happy to have you here with me as well, dear."

Sansa got to her feet as well and followed the queen, picking her way through the dewy undergrowth, back out towards the castle.

"Are you busy with anything tomorrow night?" Margaery turned back to her under the exposed sunlight, in a wave of wool knit and glimmering chestnut curls.

"Not at all," Sansa said instantaneously, her heart leaping with a rush of excitement. No matter the situation, no matter how tense things may have just seemed, it was always a blessing to get to spend time with the queen. It was quite often, nowadays they could hang out, now that Sansa was a court lady. She would forever be grateful for Margaery helping her.

Sansa had to admit, despite the fact Joffrey was awful, there were plenty of perks to being involved with the royal family.

"Let's have a drink, just us," Margaery suggested with a brilliantly white smile and cool blue eyes. Her beauty never failed to astound Sansa, even with a busted lip.

"I'd love to."

* * *

The king's arrival couldn't have been ignored even if one tried. Every head at the table snapped to his attention, as his grace slammed open the giant iron doors and marched into the dining hall, seemingly as obnoxious as he could manage.

"Now the party can start," it was his voice, his distinct, smug voice suddenly singing through the halls that stirred the uneasy tension at the dinner table.

For no reason at all, he knocked things over as he strolled in, torch holders and goblets and things lining the shelves on the wall.

Among the others, Cersei jumped, startled at first by this unpleasant, loud clatter of steel on the polished tile. Then the irritation distilled in her in waves.

"Joff, please, that's highly unnecessary," she corrected him as gently as she could muster, but it still found a way through his thin layers of patience and bit him.

"Silence!" He barked, startling her again as his high shrill voice echoed through the massive, dark room. There was a moment of stillness before he started laughing madly like he said something outstandingly witty. He was a rapid flow of energy, manic and jumpy, "Someone ought to get me some bloody wine already!"

 _What's gotten into him?_ Cersei was subtly embarrassed by her first born's behavior, but everyone at the table was personal enough to understand he was far out of her control, let alone anyone else's.

This would be the first time she'd seen Joff today. He hadn't attended breakfast this morning and she had been too busy with wedding planning and court matters so she had failed to catch him throughout the day.

"Please, come join us, love," Cersei coaxed him, motioning to his designated chair. "We were all wondering when you would show."

"Yes, we've all missed you so dearly," Tyrion was already started with his heavy sarcasm, this time accompanied by a mocking grin.

"Please," Cersei snapped, her eyes flashed with a desperate pleading when they landed on her younger brother. "Not now, Tyrion." This was the last thing she needed, Tyrion instigating him.

She noticed the bounce in Joff's step as he found the way to his seat at the head of the table, snatching the bottle of Romanee from beside Jaime's plate as he went.

Jaime looked as if he wanted to say something to object but he remained quiet. Cersei caught his eye with subtle interest, then found herself staring at him across the dinner table that same way she would when they were kids. Those golden waves of desire and lust she had for him had never once ceased in all her years.

They met each other's gaze for just a silent, electric moment, before Cersei her eyes turned away, back to Joffrey.

She and Jaime hadn't been getting along well since they had argued a few nights back, but she was ready to reconcile. She missed spending time with him. Her entire life, they had been inseparable, she couldn't stand it when they were rocky.

"Tell me what's new," said Joffrey, drawing her out of thought.

 _There's something different about him,_  she couldn't help but think, narrowing her eyes at her son as he kicked his clunky, gold boots on the dinner table so he could lean back in his oversized chair.

"We were just discussing your wedding," she said to Joffrey, who was already pouring himself a chalice of wine.  _He's taken an interest in drinking more recently,_ she noted to herself.

"Everyone everywhere is discussing my wedding," he sneered matter-of-factly, before taking a loud, exaggerated sip. "That's all I ever hear about."

"And that's all you  _will_  ever hear about for the next moon and a half," Tyrion put in sharply. "The King of the Seven Kingdoms is getting married, people are going to make a fuss over it."

Cersei prayed to the gods he wasn't trying to provoke him or start something for once.  _Please, can we just have one nice dinner?_

"Your ceremony means a greater deal than you think, Joff," she agreed, looking over at her son, "Royal weddings are glorious and extravagant. I've only been to two in my entire life."

She then froze when Jaime's green eyes fixed on her with interest. Memories came back to her with a flurry of emotions. Memories from years ago of the royal wedding in Silverhill she had attended with her family and stayed in their palace for a few nights. She and Jaime had only been in their sixteenth year and had run off together during the wedding feast and dance later that night and had intense, passionate sex on the newlywed king and queen's bed.

She tore her eyes from her twin brother's, only to see Tywin glaring at them both. He knew what had happened that night in Silverhill, he had seen them leaving the room together, but he was in utter denial.

"Well, in that case, mine has to be the most glorious wedding all of Westeros has ever seen," Joffrey's excited tone tore through their unnerving exchange. Cersei was more than grateful to have something else to focus on, to cling to.

It was apparent on Joff's face he had a generous amount of brilliant ideas that had just raced through his mind like a tidal wave. He had taken his feet off the table to sit forward in his chair, dramatically leaned over the table, nearly knocking over the entire bottle of that priceless, exotic wine.

"I want chocolate fountains and doves and tens of thousands of cases of the finest wine gold can buy," he continued to speak frantically with childlike excitement, his big blue eyes full of stars.

It truly made Cersei so happy to see him like this. He was still her little boy.

"And live music, and–and a tournament! Yes, a fight to the death just for my own enjoyment!"

"Yes, I like that idea," Tywin finally chimed in. "A trial of one's true strength entertained by hundreds of thousands of people."

Cersei loved nothing more than when everyone got along with Joffrey. It was exhausting having to protect and defend him all the time, this had to be the most pleasant dinner they've had in a while.

"And the catch is," Joffrey still wasn't done, "whoever wins will lose anyway, because I'll chop their head off! I'm the only one who has truly won!" he laughed madly.

This time Tywin only rolled his eyes, then sipped on his drink to dull his senses out and drown out his sadistic grandson's excited banter.

"Well, I suppose we can organize something of the sort," Cersei naturally complied with him.

"And the bedding ceremony?" Tyrion mused, raising his brows causing both she and Joff to fix on the little imp speaking at the other end of the table. She knew he was only bringing this up to unsettle Joff. She had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

"I forbid it," said the king dryly.

"Now, Joffrey," Cersei started to protest.  _He shouldn't be so hasty._

"What. It's humiliating and I won't allow it," Joffrey's tone was absolute. "I don't want to be put through all that."

"It's tradition," Tyrion objected from the end of the table. When Joffrey fixed on him, Cersei could sense his temper bristling just beneath the surface.

"I don't care!" he snapped at his uncle. He was obviously starting to get heated but Cersei was determined to prevent her pleasant evening from falling apart. She was just clinging onto the last of it by a thread.  _Just one nice dinner, just one, is all I ask._

"Now, that's alright," She said in a practiced voice, shooting a glare at Tyrion as if looks could kill.  _"_ He doesn't have to do anything he's not comfortable with. Robert didn't allow it at our wedding."

"I didn't allow it at my wedding either," her father put it, "It's highly unnecessary." From just a stretch across the table, he looked like a tired old lion, drooped over his wine in the firelight.

"It's fun! All of you are boring," said Tyrion with a laugh.

"Nothing about my wedding will be boring," muttered Joffrey. "There'll be so much blood, you could smell it off the coast when you sail in."

"That sounds like a whole lot of fun! Good idea, Joffrey," said Tyrion in the most sarcastic manner he could muster up. "I always wonder what it is with you and blood."

"I always wonder what it is with you and whores," Joff bit back crassly, catching the attention of his family members seated around the table.

"I guess we all have our own little fix, don't we?" said the most unbothered Tyrion with a chuckle before he sipped his wine. "Mine healthily being around women and sex, and yours...well, we're not ready to have that talk about your sick, little mind, my dearest, sweet nephew."

 _Here we go._ Cersei opened her mouth to object but Joffrey's tongue was sharper.

"What?" MY sick mind? You're a whole disease yourself. I don't wanna hear about the ill from you, you repulsive defect of nature."

"I always find it so funny how you try to point out how defective I am when—"

"That's enough! Both of you!" Cersei slapped her palm on the table so everyone's attention was suddenly on her. "Just one dinner is all I ask! Is that too difficult for you?"

Neither of them said anything for a moment, they only blinked in alarmed silence. Then Joffrey was going off again.

"Sometimes I forget I'm the bloody king, the way this fool talks to me!" Joffrey wailed to his mother, "I demand respect, or his throat shall be slit on my order."

Cersei hated Tyrion more than anything right now. She glared at him down the dinner table, as if her eyes could actually burn holes straight through his skull. _How could he sabotage their peaceful dinner? This was the only time of the day the family would join together._

"Tyrion, you always find a way to ruin things," said Cersei coldly, her eyes never leaving his. "Joffrey deserves respect, he is your ki-"

"I  _demand_ respect!" Joffrey broke in his voice cracking with youth, "Or it will be  _your_ head!"

"I thought it would be my throat?" Tyrion mused and Joffrey lost it.

"You stupid, bloody–" He tore from his chair, slapping goblets and wine off the table in a clatter of glass and iron, "fucking imp!" he started towards Tyrion, who was now up out of his chair, backing away, but before Joffrey could make any advancement towards him, Cersei seized his arms, holding him back.

"Joffrey," Cersei tried to cool him down but there was no use. He wasn't listening to her, or anyone.

"You're speaking to a king!" He roared at Tyrion, thrashing away from his mother. "And I'll kill you in a heartbeat! You think I won't?"

Always finding a way to make things worse, Tyrion was smiling which further instigated his nephew.

"Joffrey, please, settle down," said Cersei, reaching for his arm.

"Stop! Don't touch me!" he seethed pushing her off of him abruptly, causing her to stumble and almost lose her balance.

"Joffrey! Stop," Jaime finally stepped in, jumping to his feet to rush to Cersei's aid.

Before she even had time to think, Tywin suddenly tore from his own seat and hammered his goblet against the polished wood table to gain everybody's attention.

"That's enough!" he roared, the volume of a lion and they all froze in silence. He was suddenly very frightening, Cersei had always thought so growing up, and she hadn't seen this side of him in a while. "Joffrey, you need to  _stop_  acting like a child."

Joffrey, now turning a hot shade of red opened his mouth to say something to object, but no words came out.

"All of you make me sick. I can't take any more of this," Tywin growled and he started out of the room.

"Father, wait," Cersei started after him but Jaime held her back.

"Just let him go," he said, squeezing her arm. "It's alright."

Either way, she realized she couldn't leave Joffrey here with Tyrion or they would probably kill each other. Cersei could only address his physical touch for a heartbeat before her son was screaming again.

"What? It's Tyrion! He's the child! He started everything!" Joffrey bellowed, his anxious voice echoing through the room. Then he turned to Tyrion with fiery rage, "I hate you! I hate you!"

"Good. Then the feeling is mutual," Tyrion muttered darkly, his spirit finally deceased.

Joffrey started towards the door, shoving Tyrion out of the way, as hard as he possibly could manage, knocking the little man over onto the floor. He slammed the door behind him, causing some more goblets to rumble off the shelves and clatter to the ground.

_One nice dinner is all I wanted._

* * *

It was early in the night and Margaery had just finished having a quiet dinner in her room when there was a frantic knock on her door.

After throwing a silk robe over her nightgown, she answered in hopes it would either be Sansa or Joffrey. Instead, she was greeted with the sight of a frightened, young handmaid, her dress and face soiled with red wine.

"G-good evening, y-your grace," she sniffled. "The king is unwell. He demands to see you..."

"Unwell?" Margaery echoed, not understanding.  _Is he okay? Is he sick? He is sad? What's wrong?_ She had a million thoughts rushing through her head, but she remains silent, waiting for the handmaid to tell her any more details.

Oddly enough, there was nothing else said, and Margaery just followed the servant down the corridors to the king's private chambers.

When they reached his bedroom door, the servant dismissed herself, unnervingly out of fear. Margaery, who still had no clue what was going on, opened his door and was shocked by how messy his room was. The paintings had been ripped from the walls, armor, and furniture toppled over on the floor among the endless scatter clothes.

She glanced around the disastrous room for a moment before addressing the king himself, sulking at the edge of his bed.

"Joffrey?"

"He hates me!" he cried, all shaken up, "Tommen's always been his favorite."

"Who hates you?" Margaery asked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed beside him.

"Tywin! That old prick!" his eyes were all red and puffy as if he'd been crying for hours.

"Your grandfather?" said Margaery in disbelief. "That's not true, Joff, he loves you."

"No, no, no! Everyone hates me," Joffrey insisted. "My father hated me, my grandfather hates me, my mum hates me. They all wish I was dead!"

Margaery remained silent. She couldn't even imagine what had happened between him and his grandfather to cause such an upset.

Gently, she let her fingers trail up and down his back, confident this physical affection would ease his nerves. She just listened to him mutter and curse and damn them all to hell under his breath.

She felt bad for him.  _He felt like his dead father hated him..._ she didn't know his father, so she had no evidence to state this wasn't true, but she doubted he hated his own son. She wanted him to tell her what happened, but she figured it would be best to try to ease his mind off things.

"Joffrey..." Oddly, the sound of her soothing voice in the air, saying his name sent a flutter through her own stomach. "No one wishes you were dead. No one hates you. We all love you. And I'm so in love with you...and I've hardly known you for a moon."

His frenzied gaze softened at her words. He looked very sad suddenly. This look tugged on her heartstrings and she wanted nothing more but to love and comfort him.

"They all talk to me as if I'm not the king. They treat me like I'm a child!" he whined. "Tyrion is the worst. He's so disrespectful it's disgusting! I don't understand how he gets away with it! He doesn't take any of my death threats seriously. Maybe I need to slit someone's throat for him to see I'm not fucking around."

"Just take a breath, love. It's alright," she said, soothing him with her fingertips, tracing up and down his arm. "Do what you need to do. But we all know you're not a child. You're the king and you're getting married, you're far from a child, my love. Tyrion is just a foolish imbecile. You can't let his inferior opinions matter so much to you."

"But he cannot speak to me like that! He ought to have his tongue cut out," Joffrey protested.

"Have him punished and be done with it, then," Margaery said, "If he fears you, he'll never fall out of line again."

Joffrey considered this for a moment, "You're right..." he murmured, in thought, evidently coming up with some form of punishment in his head.

Margaery silently thanked the gods for allowing him to be so cooperative with her. She smiled pleasantly at her love, continuing to caress his arm lovingly. For a moment there was nothing but silence and the soft crackle of the flames.

"That feels really nice," he sighed, giving her more access to his arm.

"Are you tired, my love?" Margaery asked, stroking him, already knowing the answer.

He only yawned in response, and she clambered up onto his bed beckoning for him to follow.

"Come lay with me, my love. I'll do it to you until you fall asleep," she offered, patting fluffy blankets beside her.

Joffrey didn't answer her, but he obeyed, settling beneath the blankets beside her. Margaery was gentle and slow as she ran her dainty fingers through his soft golden hair and down his neck over arms and hands. He took off all his clothes until he was down to nothing but his boxer shorts, allowing her to trace her sweet fingers down his bare chest.

His exposed skin was so smooth and tender against her fingers and it erupted in gooseflesh when she trailed near more sensitive areas, like the sides of his ribcage and over his collarbone.

She could rake her fingers through his hair for hours; she loved playing with the golden locks around his ears, making him shudder and draw in his breath sharply.

They cuddled together closely, though tonight it didn't lead to anything sexual. They were both tired and Joffrey was too drained. It didn't take long for them to fall asleep, contently snuggled against each other.

At this point, Margaery didn't care about all the glamorous things anymore. They were nice, sure, but now all she cared about was loving and comforting Joffrey. She wanted to be there for him and help him mature as he grows older. She couldn't wait to get married.


	9. Éveil

**IX**

In the early break of daylight, Margaery awoke in a fluffy cloud of white and silk, feather duvet, beside her golden-haired lover, and could have sworn for a moment she had woken up in heaven. Life had never been so perfect and things would soon only get better. She left before he woke, but saw him again, sleepy-eyed and still drowsy with bedhead at breakfast later than morning.

At the end of the meal, as everyone disbanded, she had strolled over to him, with that glimmering, feline look in her eye, grabbed his soft boy hand, and leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. Such an innocent interaction was brushed off by their peers, but she caught his mother's uneasy eye from the other side of the room, pinned on the two of them.

"You're in love with me," she had whispered low into his ear and long after they parted ways, she continued to think about him all throughout the morning.

During lunch, when she and her court ladies sat out practicing English grammar and reading literature, repeatedly, she caught herself gazing out at the bay lost in thought, again fantasizing about Joffrey. Though she always kept busy, her mind remained on him. She was so glad she had been there for him last night when he needed someone to talk to.

Margaery felt like he was really opening up to her, and concluded she must be doing something right. He was practically all she cared about at this point. She loved this ability she had to calm him down and talk to him in a way he would comply with. She loved him more than life itself and promised herself she would always be there for him when he needed her.

The thought had occurred to her how Joffrey would react when he discovers she and Sansa have grown closer than ever. Maybe he would be unbothered by it, but Margaery suspected he may uncomfortable, considering that he and Sansa were engaged not too long ago.

It's funny, whenever she used to imagine Joffrey and Sansa even talking to one another would make her uncomfortable and maybe even a little jealous, naturally, because they were previously involved. But now more than anything she wanted the two of them to become close. It would melt away a lot of tension in her life as well as their own.  _We all just need to be on the same side._

That afternoon, Joffrey held royal court in the throne room. He appeared dramatically bored, slouched over on his oversized throne, his head slumped in his palm, yawning for the next few hours as barons and lords ambled there way into the dusty, sunlit room. One by one, they came before the throne, standing below the bleeding glow of stained glass, with numerous offers and occasional requests for diplomacy.

One by one they were all impatiently declined. Only one offer was eventually accepted after some tedious bargaining with Joffrey and the master of ships to rent out another slice of their naval fleet to aid some allies in the south.

Cersei sat on the right hand of the throne, listening mostly, but would occasionally lean into Joff's ear to whisper stuff. From what Margaery could gather it was probably just advice or some crude remark. She felt this odd energy from Cersei that made her feel like she didn't like her.

Now she looked like such a proud, lioness queen beside her golden son, Margaery wondered if it was fucked up she was so excited to take Cersei's spot on his right hand, then realized it doesn't matter because everything is fucked up nowadays in this life.

A courier came with news of a war that had been declared between two irrelevant kingdoms, and afterward some peasants came in, unwisely complaining the food prices were far too high, and the economy had gone to shit, but their protests brought them no good, and they only suffered the third degree of Joffrey's wrath. To ensure they never come back again with their "pitiful whining," he decided to take one of their heads, imprisoning him until further notice, then had the other thrown out of the palace back onto the streets.

Nothing was truly out of the ordinary until this starving woman from the poor district came in and wept on the floor before the Iron Throne, begging for medication or some form of aid for her sick child.

Joffrey merely laughed, his glittering crown tipping forward. "Once the disease takes him, you'll have fewer mouths to feed. If you can't afford to take care of your offspring, then simply close your legs."

This made Cersei among a few others laugh, and the sobbing woman grew so upset her cries bellowed and echoed through the massive, drafty throne room.

Only this, had the slightest impact on Margaery, not enough to disturb her, but just enough to catch her attention in a separate light. All these people were laughing as if this was completely moral, but Margaery knew they had just adapted to the way the Lannisters were running the place, as she already had too.

"Shut up!" Joffrey barked at the woman.

Her devastated wailing didn't cease, even the slightest.

"Get her the bloody hell out of here," Margaery heard him snap at Jaime, who was standing off to the left-wing of the throne with the rest of the kingsguard. "I want this obnoxious whore out of here."

Without hesitation, two guards snatched up the loud woman by each of her arms and as they carried her out of the room she never stopped screaming and crying.

Everyone was slightly unsettled until Joffrey announced there were refreshments in the dining hall and disbanded the now very satisfied party of aristocrats.

Margaery wanted to catch up with him and have a drink or two, but as soon as the crowd dispersed throughout the throne room, she noticed him prowling off towards the great hall and small council chambers with his mother. She decided it would be best if they just met up another time.

Later on, in the cool late-night, just as promised, Margaery had Sansa over in her chambers, and two girls laughed and chatted on the balcony, over a bottle of white wine.

The stars were breathtaking tonight, scattered dazzling gems in streaks and clusters of white. The nighttime sky always amazed Margaery, and often she caught herself staring at the moon, just as she was tonight.

"I'm starting to feel pretty good," Sansa said, swirling her third refill of wine around in her chalice.

Tonight Sansa was wearing this tight black dress, that accentuated her curves in a sexy, yet elegant way. It was more revealing than the garments she would normally wear, and it made her appear older and less innocent.

"I want to apologize for the way I acted the other day," Sansa admitted softly, gazing off towards the black ocean. The moon was stretched over the water in sheets of silver. "I think you and Joff are perfect together."

This was heartwarming to hear, especially from Sansa. This was exactly what Margaery wanted, Sansa's acceptance. Now all she needed was for the two of them to get along.

"Thank you, love. That's so sweet of you to say," she said as they exchanged a pleasant smile.

She wondered where this sudden change of heart was coming from. The other day, Margaery could tell when Sansa was agreeing with her, she was just trying to smooth out the water. But this time, her words seemed so genuine Margaery believed in her with almost no hesitation.

"You seem really happy with him..." Sansa sighed, "and if he makes you happy, then that makes me happy."

 _How sweet,_ Margaery thought as she sipped her drink. Sansa had dominated whatever parts of her heart Joffrey already hadn't.

"I'm so grateful to have your blessing Sansa, I really am," she met her bright, cerulean eyes. "I want the two of you to get along. You're the two most important people in my life, you know."

Sansa didn't say anything for a moment, in fact, she looked a little pink in the face, but it seemed time just now caught up with her as she smiled profusely and scrambled to come up with a response. "I-I didn't realize..how close you and I've become. I'm so glad to have you as a friend, Margaery. I love you..."

"I love you too," the queen said as she leaned forward to hug the younger girl sweetly, in a warm exchange of lace and silk.

Sansa's hair was soft and tickling her face, and she smelled like an actual rose. While they hugged for just a moment longer, Margaery felt this sudden fluttering rush through her stomach, seemingly at the psychical sensation of Sansa's arms wrapped around her waist, in that same spot Joffrey's usually were. She imagined hugging any other girl wouldn't feel so intimate.

When they broke apart from the embrace Sansa was still a little red in the face.

"I'm surprised how close you managed to get with Joffrey," said Sansa suddenly, as if she was just something to talk about so it wasn't quiet. "He hates everyone."

"Honestly, Sansa when I first saw him, I was really captivated by his whole personality really. He's just so weird, you'll never really meet anyone else quite like him."

"Morbid is a better word for him," said Sansa.

"You all think Joffrey is so mean, but there's a story behind everybody. He's a sweetheart once you get to know him."

"Ugh, see," Sansa groaned as if she already knew what Margaery would say. "You're in denial just like his mother. Are you even the slightest bit alarmed by his lack of empathy? You can't possibly think his recent sadistic behavior is healthy."

"Oh, sweet Sansa," Margaery shook her head with a laugh, "It always amuses me how unnerved you are by Joffrey. You shouldn't get so worked up over things that aren't in your control, especially things that don't affect you directly. Then your life will start to get much easier."

"What if he hurts you?" Sansa asked. This frantic urgency in her voice reminded Margaery how much she cared. "He's starting to really worry me. He's bloodthirsty, Margaery, anyone can see that."

"He...he loves me..." Margaery said softly. "He wants to keep me safe and protect me from any harm. He would never hurt me. He would do anything for me. You have to trust me on this, Sansa."

Sansa didn't say anything, she only had this cynical look on her face, evidently unsure of what to think of it all.

"You don't see it. No one sees it, but he can be really sweet, once you get to know him. He's not the monster everyone thinks he is."

"So you're just going to completely disregard what happened earlier today? When that poor, starving woman wept on the floor before the throne, begging for aid for her sick child and your king just laughed in her face. Do you not care?"

"Sansa," Margaery sighed starting to grow impatient with her constant questioning. "I know it must be unnerving for you, sweet, little thing, but I don't like to question his decisions. He is the king, so he'll do what he wants. I care a little bit, I guess...but not enough to jeopardize my spot in the game," her words came out firmer than she intended.

"I see..." said Sansa thoughtfully.

"I know I won't legally have any power over him once I'm crowned queen consort, but I'll have some say in the small council meetings and I could gently advise him of course...I have ways to make him listen," she added with a subtle wink.

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Sansa teased, laughing along with her.

They shared an amusing exchange of laughter and any tension seemed to fade out.

"But anyhow," Margaery sighed, gazing over the balcony into the peaceful blackness. "I'm not in the position to say anything against Joffrey's word. I wouldn't want to sacrifice this bond I've created with him either. Once we're married I'll be able to negotiate with him a little more over some things."

There was a moment of silence while the two just sipped their wine.

"I bet you're excited to get married," Sansa said, meeting her gaze.

"I am. It's all I can think about. I just can't wait to sit beside his throne, and share his bed at night, and wear that beautiful, sparkling tiara, and attend extravagant parties wearing fashionable clothes with all the other royalty and socialites."

"So...tell me..." Sansa paused for a moment, lingering on her words. She looked as if she was having an internal battle with herself, unsure of whether to spit it out or not. "...How was it?... How was he?"

For a moment Margaery was taken aback, surprised Sansa would even ask. She was under the impression Sansa, for one, hated Joffrey with a fiery passion, and two, she was an innocent little lamb, who couldn't even think of such things, like sex, and even more surprising,  _Joffrey Baratheon_  in such a manner.

Tonight, something just seemed different about her, like she was more mature or something. It wasn't the way she was dressed or the drink in her hand, but it was the things she was saying. Sansa just wanted her to be happy, regardless of how much she hated her boyfriend.

Margaery realized by opening up to her, this was a good chance for the two of them to get even closer, talking about boys and sex and stuff. Sansa was a virgin, and since she had never experienced such things, Margaery would have to describe in detail.  _There were so many ways to describe it. Perfect. Amazing. Sexy. Kinky..._

"Oh, it was beautiful, Sansa," Margaery finally answered as she met the younger girl's eye. "He's so good at fucking me. It was hard to believe he was even a virgin."

"Woah..." Sansa's mouth fell open but she was stilling listening intently, with this thoughtful, sheepish look on her face.

"He snuck into my room in the late night, just like I told you he would," she laughed softly over her glass of wine. "He's so sexy, Sansa. He fucked me so gooood."

Even just saying it out had her stomach a whirling mess of butterflies.

"I always thought..." Sansa started smiling as if something bad crossed her mind, and she wondered whether she should say it, "I always thought...he looks like he can fuck good."

Margaery burst into a fit of laughter because this was the last thing she expected Sansa to say, who's face was now all bright red. She couldn't help but wonder— _what in the seven hells?_   _She thinks about Joffrey having sex? I thought she despised him? Little Sansa isn't so innocent after all._

"Well," Margaery said between chains of tipsy laughter. "He certainly is a good fuck," she confirmed.

Then it was both girls laughing. Margaery's lack of care on the matter seemed to loosen Sansa up. She wasn't all uneasy and red anymore. Margaery adored their relationship and thought it was so cool they were close enough to talk about things like this.

She had cooled down from laughing and sipped her drink as a refreshing midnight breeze whisked in from the ocean.

"He's so good at using his tongue," she suddenly said, and oddly enough, Sansa seemed more intrigued than ever. The tingling sensation in her stomach grew lower, between her legs, stirring with lust.

"He used his tongue on you?" Her eyes were wide with astonishment, "Like...down there?"

"No, Sansa," Margaery giggled, "I was talking about when he kisses me, but now that I think of it..." she then lowered her voice dramatically, "He did suck on my tits—"

"What!" Sansa cut her off abruptly with this amazed look on her face. "Are you serious? That's kind of hot."

"It would be hotter if he did use his tongue down there," Margaery sighed dreamily, gazing into her nearly empty glass. As she said this the throbbing, beating ache between her thighs intensified with need.

Many times she had fantasized about Joffrey working his smart little mouth between her thighs. Over and over she imagined what it would feel like if he lowered his perfect blonde head between her legs and slipping his wet, slick tongue across her sensitive clit and lapping over her tender, pink folds. The ecstasy of his tongue driving into her tight hole, just as his sweet boy fingers returned the pressure on her now wet and slippery clitoris, because he knows it drives her crazy when he takes that feeling away.

She had fantasized this so many times; every night she wasn't with him. She even fantasized about it right now. She wondered to herself why she was so horny all the time. Maybe it was her hormones. Or maybe it was Joffrey. She thought he was so sexy and it was clear he completely driving her nuts. Now that she had a taste of what sex was like, she craved it constantly.

"When he...fucked you," Sansa started slowly, "he didn't finish inside you, did he?"

"Gods no. I swallowed it all," she said casually and Sansa started giggling mischievously again. "Every last drop."

"So tell me. Is his—"

"It's big," Margaery answered instantaneously, already knowing her next question. She was  _waiting_ for Sansa to ask. "Well. Bigger than I was expecting it to be. Feels a size or two too big for his teenage boyish frame."

She wished she could suck on it right now. Just talking about it wasn't good enough anymore. She was so wet, she just wanted to be fucked.

"Hmm," Sansa again, seemed oddly very intrigued by this topic as she thought about the things Margaery was telling her, with this strange, pinkening look on her face. "Wow. King Joffrey doesn't have a small cock. Who woulda thought?"

"Hey!" Margaery snapped, playfully swatting her arm. "Watch yourself. That's my baby you're talking about."

She would have to go find him after this. Hopefully, he would just be in his room, but if she had to look around, she would. She was just so turned on, she desperately needed some release, so the perfect solution was none other than Joffrey.

For the next ten minutes, Margaery tried to concentrate on Sansa talking about this novel she had read the other day, but her mind was running wild. She couldn't get Joffrey out of her head. Thoughts of his perfectly pointy smile and blessed dimples curled in over her mind. She craved the feeling of his warm arms around her waist and that sweet smell of his cashmere cologne. And his hot breath ghosting against her ear and down her neck. _And his fingers,_  Margery thought, _ohh_ _his fingers._ She wanted to feel them so badly, rubbing her up her thighs and over her collarbone softly..then further down to squeeze her full, perky breasts that hardly fit in his hands and play with her hardened nipples.

When Margaery absolutely couldn't take it anymore, she finally told the little dove she would see her tomorrow, then sent her on her way. She had gotten herself so wound up talking about Joffrey she had to have him now. Currently, in her youthful, exciting life, she loved this boy more than anything and had never been happier. It seemed things were just too good to be true. She had everything promised to her, anything she could ever want at her fingertips for eternity. In her own way, she was winning in this cold world, forever secluded in the warmth and safety of the Red Keep.

Alone in her room, Margaery mentally prepared herself to be unsupervised with Joffrey again for the night. She soaked in the hot, herbal bath for a few minutes, resisting the urge to touch herself.

She shaved her whole body until she was soft and smooth as a peach, then after getting out, she used virgin cocoa butter to moisturize her skin. She decided to wear this revealing, silk white slip embroidered with gold. It was chic enough for royalty and happened to be a gift from the Lannister family along with dozens of other fashionable and expensive garments already in her wardrobe when she moved into the castle.

Before leaving she threw this long, sheer, lace robe over her slip and applied a bit of vanilla oil to her lips so she would taste delicious. The excitement gnawed at her, just thinking she would be kissing him in the next ten minutes or so. Hopefully, more than that. Hopefully, he'd be eating her out in the next ten minutes.

Before she knew it, she was casually strolling through the dim, firelit halls in the late hours of the night. A few guards passed by, surveying her curiously, but they said nothing.

She hadn't thought about it until now, but it was positively after midnight, she was sure of it, and she was now worried he might be sleeping at this hour, considering how drowsy he had been earlier when she had seen him last.

 _Poor baby was so tired,_ she thought, skipping down the hall, hardly able to contain her excitement.  _I'm going to see Joffrey,_ she wanted to sing. She was so irritated with the fact she had to keep their little hookups so secret because it was really all she wanted to talk about. She couldn't wait to be his wife.

Thankfully, she had confided in Sansa with this dirty secret. She would have to tell her everything after tonight. She remembered how Sansa was all flustered and interested in all the sexy details and Margaery wondered why.  _Maybe she was just fascinated because she had never had sex before. Or maybe she secretly thinks Joff is sexy._  For some reason, as this thought crossed her mind the wet ache pulsing between her legs intensified with tingling lust.  _Or maybe she secretly thinks I'm sexy._

She considered this for a moment, suddenly growing more aroused than ever, as she thankfully reached the king's private quarters, at last, the hallway in which his bedroom was.

At first, when she spotted his door her heart leaped with excitement, but then waves of irritation rolled over when her gaze landed on The Hound, the only guard present, leaned up against the stone doorway, puffing on his pipe while he read. She didn't feel like dealing with him right now, and even just the sight of him had set her nerves off.

"Hey, you," she said, her voice sounding firmer than it's usual soft, sweet pitch. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, your answer is pretty obvious," he grumbled with the same impatience she carried. "You're not getting in this time. His mother strictly instructed me not to let any women into his room at night."

"Wait. King Joffrey didn't give you the order?" said Margaery, thinking of something quickly. "He told me he was going to, he must have forgotten..."

"What order? What are you talking about?" The Hound asked, his brows furrowing with confusion.

"He wanted to speak with me tonight, he said he'd tell you to let me in," she said.

"His orders have more authority than his mother's, I suppose," said The Hound, starting to walk away, "But I'm going to ask him about this tomorrow. You hear?"

"That's fine. He'll tell you the same thing."

After he was far enough away, Margaery finally knocked on his door, her heart pounding in her chest. She waited anxiously in the silent passing seconds, praying he was still awake. After a few more moments of silence, she knocked again and this time she gained a response.

"Hang on, I'm coming," she could hear Joffrey's irritated, sleepy voice muffled behind his door.

 _Oh no, I woke him up.._ Margaery thought gloomily. She thought maybe this time, she might have actually annoyed him. She prayed she didn't make a mistake this time around. Hopefully, he would be happy to see her.

When Joffrey swung open the door, her heart leaped at the sight of him. In the dim flickering firelight, she could readily make out the sharp, perfect features of his face and his glowing blue eyes. He wasn't wearing his crown, and oddly enough he appeared younger and smaller without it. His blonde wispy hair was a mess of bedhead, suggesting that he had been probably asleep. She could see his bare chest peeking out of this loosely tied black silk robe.

"Margaery?"

When she saw that faint, sleepy smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, so his dimple could just hardly form, she knew he could never be mad at her.

"Sorry to bother you at this hour, your grace," she said in an unusually formal manner averting her eyes shyly. Something about the way she talked was so mysterious, she knew it would interest him. "I just had to see you. May I come in?"

"What's wrong?" Joffrey asked, holding the door opening wider for her to come in. She started to able forward, but a sudden change of heart urged her to just run into his arms and hug him so dearly against her as if he would disappear when she let go.

"Nothing's wrong now, here with you," she sighed into his neck, breathing him in, inhaling that sweet, sharp aroma of this moring's cologne. His golden locks grazed her cheek so faintly.

Joffrey didn't say anything, but he hugged her back, his arms sweetly laced around her waist. She had longed for this sensation all day. His arms were warm and safe and she could feel his soft heartbeat thumping against her chest. The gods know, she would kill for him.

"I can't stop thinking about you, my love," she whispered into the younger boy's ear, her warm breath tickling his skin, causing him to shudder. She loved this effect she had on him. This evidently stirred up something in him, because he suddenly pulled her into his room and shut the door behind them.

"Thinking about me?" his voice was sleepy, but it sounded so sexy.

"I can't get you out of my head," she whispered against his neck, allowing her lips to gently graze his tender skin. She forced herself further against him, pressing their front sides together. With her lips still trailing soft kisses down his throat, she could feel the hardening excitement beneath his thin layers. The sight of his fairly toned, exposed chest was arousing as hell, and she was dying to just unravel him already.

Undoubtedly, he knew exactly what she was after and it was evident he wanted the same thing.

She found his mouth when she couldn't hold back anymore and her sweet lips met his in a soft, warm collision of harmony, with poorly suppressed hunger. She truly wanted to rip his clothes off and suck him dry but she knew it would be better if she was a good girl and took things slowly. He liked her obedient, she had to remind herself.

After a few innocent pecks, Margaery parted her lips to allow Joffrey to suddenly force his very dominant tongue into her mouth. He kissed her passionately, suddenly more aroused than before; it seemed he couldn't get enough of her and she knew he could taste that vanilla.

He grabbed her waist aggressively, with sudden unexpected force, forcing her impossibly tighter against his front side—more importantly, his boner against her throbbing, wet core.

"Mhm, Joff," she moaned into his hot mouth as one of his hands left her waist to squeeze her round, plump asscheek through the thin fabric.

She retreated off him just enough so she could allow her robe to fall to the floor in a pool of lace around her dainty feet.

Now only wearing this sexy little slip, she suddenly felt so much more exposed. The slip did wonders to show off her feminine, curvy figure, there was hardly anything to it. Her nipples were hard at the feeling of this sudden cool air on her skin and they poked through the thin, almost see-through fabric and without a doubt, this caught Joffrey's attention.

His eyes uncontrollably wandered downward over her rack and he was caught in this trance of intent thought and chewing on his bottom lip.

"Damn," he finally murmured when he realized it had been quiet for too long, and she stepped against him, hooking herself around him tightly.

"Come on babyyy," she moaned against his throat, trailing her lips over his skin. "Touch me. I'm so wet for you."

"I am your king. Not a baby," he corrected sharply, squeezing her ass roughly.

"You're  _my_  baby," she protested.

Suddenly, Joff grabbed the dainty, little queen with excited force and dragged her over to the bed. He sat on the edge and tossed her helplessly over his knees so she was more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm not a fucking baby," he cursed, his voice so loud it actually frightened her.

Her slip was so short, she could feel her ass and wet cunt exposed to the cool air.

In one powerful blow, he slapped her ass hard, with a loud clap that echoed through his glittering room. She jumped with a gasp at this stinging, painful sensation, and with hardly a breath in between, he did it again, this time harder, hard enough for her to cry out.

"Yeah, that's more like it, baby," he growled, snatching her hair up in a fistful with his other hand, "I know you like that, my sweet, little queen."

Another violent blow to the right ass cheek caused her to jump and whimper in pain. For some reason though, this was making her intensely wetter than before. She could feel it even more now that her lips were so exposed in the cool air.

With a firm grip still on her hair, he leaned forward to growl low into her ear, "You better start talking to me like I'm your king, or I'll spank you bloody."

Any other time, his threat would have been frightening but she was so horny it just turned her on even more. She wondered if she was sick too for being so into it.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she sighed, as Joffrey's fingers gently grazed over the exposed lower part of her red stinging ass cheeks, "I'm sorry I made you mad," she whimpered.

She felt his smooth fingers caress the exposed half of her ass, before he pulled the hem of the slip further up her body, in bunches around her rib cage. Her whole lower half was naked and completely exposed to him now. She was so glad she decided not to wear panties, or there would have been a whole other layer of teasing.

Joffrey roughly squeezed her plump, juicy ass cheek, as much as he could fit in his hand then slapped it probably as hard as he could.

Margaery yelped again, her high, pained voice echoing through the dimly lit room.

He slapped the other one this time, hard, then twice more. After at least a dozen and a half more painful, stinging blows, Margaery's ass was red and raw and in fiery pain. She was whimpering and even sobbing a little bit, and it was evident his hand was in pain too as he rubbed it on his thigh.

"Wow, you bruise quite easily," he commented, examining what he had done as he ran his suddenly, unnaturally gentle fingers over her quivering, pained skin.

She only sighed, still soaking wet for him. He didn't say anything for a few breaths, so she turned her head so she could see him intently surveying her body.

She felt shy and wanted to hide when his eyes fixed over his glistening wet folds, but soon forget anything but ecstasy as his priceless, royal fingers slowly traced over her smooth, pink, and freshly shaved lips, then he slipped between them into the warm wetness of her core.

"Joffrey," Margaery gasped as this small part of him entered her. He pumped his pointer finger in and out of her slick hole a few times causing her to sigh and squirm, then he extracted it for a few torturing moments to examine the coat of arousal.

"You're so wet for me," he remarked, and before she had time to reply he, plunged his finger back inside her, causing her to gasp as he added his middle finger this time. "Does that feel good, baby?" asked Joff, pumping them in and out, deep as he could reach.

"Yes, Daddy, yess," she sighed, bent over his knees, grinding against his hand, the feeling so orgasmic she felt she might explode.

He suddenly let go of her hair, relieving a lot of stress, so he could use his left fingers to play with her clit.

"Mmmm, Joff, baby," she moaned, rolling her hips in perfect sync with his fingers, "don't stop," she pleaded, this sexual, whining tone in her voice.

In response, Joffrey seized her hair again, in a tight handful and yanked her head back with a yelp so he could lean into her ear.

"I might just have to stop so I can give you this cock," he spat in her ear, extracting his fingers to give her ass another harsh, unexpected slap.

Margaery yelped in pain, but she hardly had time to think because he was suddenly pulling her off his lap.

She watched as he stood to drop his robe and boxers, revealing his perfect, naked body to her once again. She took all of him in, admiring all of this sudden, rare exposure for the few heartbeats she had. She had only seen him fully naked one other time and she only got to for moments at a time, she wanted to just stare at his body for hours.

Margaery wished he would just lay down so she could run her gentle, loving fingers over every inch of his fair, clean skin for the rest of the night. She wanted to follow every ridge and curve of his faint, developing muscles and run her hands over his smooth shoulders and biceps and down his abdomen. She wanted to trace this adorable, light trail leading from below his belly button with her fingers and run through the tangle of pubic hair around his cock.

In response to his sudden nudity, Margaery fell to her knees in front of him, like the good, obedient girl she was and opened up wide for him. She grabbed the back of his thighs to guide his cock into her mouth.

"Mhm," she moaned as she impressively took all of his length to the back of her throat on the first try.

She knew it must have felt really good because he let out this pleasured sigh, and threw his head back to the ceiling. As she sucked on him, she swirled her tongue around his tender, sensitive head, caressing the very top, the little hole with the tip of her tongue.

"Uhh, Margaery," he moaned softly. His oddly gentle hand came up behind the back of her head and gripped her hair as she sucked on him.

"Mmmm," she moaned, around his perfect cock as it neared the back of her throat. She allowed her hands to slide up his legs and gently squeeze his ass. She was surprised he even let her. She took her time to slowly slide him all the way back out, caressing his shaft with her skilled tongue as she went, "you taste so good, my king," she purred, licking the head of his cock, then took him all the way back into her warm, wet mouth, sucking on him as if he was a lemon bar on a hot day.

All day, she had thought about sucking his dick and now it was finally happening. This amazing sense of accomplishment bubbled inside her, as she pumped his cock in and out of her mouth, swiftly, allowing one of her hands to leave his soft asscheek to help her in the rhythm of sucking.

He groaned as she fell into this perfect sync of fingers and pressure and tongue, taking him as far back in her throat as psychically possible. His pubic hair tickled her chin and nose when her mouth reached the furthermost area along the shaft of his cock.

She then slid him all the back out of her mouth again, so she could just pump him even faster and sweet talk him.

"Oh, yeah, baby," she moaned, her voice so dirty, it'd be hard to forget the sound of it. "I know you like that," she purred, teasing him. This time it was  _her_  edging  _him_  on, "I love making you feel good, Daddy," she sighed, pumping his hard, wet cock, "I love pleasing you."

"I know you do, sweetheart," mumbled Joff, as guided her over to the bed so he could sit on the edge and she could kneel on the floor between his thighs.

Joffrey grabbed the back of her hair with both hands and forced his cock to the back of her throat, pumping himself in and out of her, furiously fucking her mouth.

He got so rough with her, she began to gag and her eyes started to watering. He continued to fuck her mouth, harder and faster until she coughed on his dick, tears streaming down her face.

She was so ready to just get fucked. Her wet cunt was aching and throbbing and she craved the feeling of him filling up her insides. At this point, she didn't even want him to eat her out, all she needed was for him to pound her, hard.

When he finally thought she had enough, he ordered her to get on the bed on all fours. He positioned himself behind her, the smooth head of his cock grazing her wet lips, caused a chill to run through her body. He ran his hand down her spine gently at first, following the curve of her back, before forcing her into this impossibly sexy arch.

The tension was driving her insane, she had to feel him inside of her  _now._ She rotated her hips around, so his tender tip could rub against her glistening, pink folds and even just the tiny bit of contact felt too good to even handle.

"Please, my sweet King Joffrey," she whined, "please, fuck me," she arched herself even more so her plump, round ass was high up in the air, on perfect display for the aroused teenage boy.

"Well, only if you insist," he teased delightfully, before he finally thrust his smooth, hard cock into her hole, stretching her out again as she accommodated his unfamiliar length.

"Uhh, yess, Joff," she moaned as his cock reached deep inside of her, filling her up.

She hoped they weren't being too loud. She prayed no one could hear her moaning and crying and getting spanked, she was sure the sound of them was echoing down the long hallways. The thought just occurred to her that this may very well be the way they would get caught, if that were to happen, of course, however, he didn't seem to be too concerned with their noise level.

All these thoughts of trying to be quiet quickly melted away at the sensation of Joffrey taking himself almost all the way out of her then slamming it all the way back in.

Every time she had the same thought, it always amazed her how much better he felt in real life; so much better than her fingers.

She moaned again, louder and dirtier than her usual self. She knew the sound of her really got him going, especially if his pristine, high-class good girl sounded like a dirty, little slut.

"Mmm, yes, Daddy," she sighed, spreading her legs wider for him to really get in there, "Yesss, give it to me."

This encouraged him to fuck her even harder and he grabbed her hair again, forcing her head against the duvet so her body would arch more. He even slapped her ass, but she hardly even registered it happened, because the pleasure his cock granted was so intensely good.

He continued to forcefully drive himself in and out of her; it felt like he reached deeper each time, and it was so nice. Margaery whined and sighed at the feeling of his cock stretching out her tight, wet hole. He let go of her hair to grip her hips.

After pounding her with such force for some time, she could hear him panting behind her and feel him starting to slow down. She knew he was tired, he had stayed up late last night, but he really needed to finish and so did she.

"Joff," she murmured, turning her head around gently to look up at him. "I want to ride you."

Joffrey only nodded his blonde head in return, and panting and tired, he extracted himself only to flop in the blankets beside her.

Margaery gracefully climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and guiding his stiff cock back into her wet entrance. The feeling of him re-entering her was so blissful she let out a pleasured moan.

"Mmm, King Joffrey," she sighed, "you feel so good inside me."

She slowly began to roll her hips, sighing at the electric feeling of grinding her clit against his pubic hair. Joffrey's hands snaked around her hips to squeeze her ass as she rotated and bounced on his cock. She leaned back so he could get a good look at her tits, as she rolled her whole body in this perfect, sexy rhythm, the feeling of them grinding together was so delicious.

Her hand met his face, so her little fingers caress his cheek and lips and down his throat to play with his thick gold chain.

His cheeks were flushed red and his bangs were sticking to his forehead with sweat, and when he noticed she was watching him chew on his bottom lip, their blue eyes met and he started smiling with those dimples and sharp teeth.  _God, he's so_ _cute._  His right hand left her ass to hold the back of her head, drawing her face in close to hers so their tongues could meet again.

As she continued to ride the king, she french kissed him in a tingling, exciting exchange of hot breath and saliva, and when he broke away to catch his breath, she brought her wet mouth down the side of his neck and sucked on his sensitive skin, beginning to bounce on his cock faster and faster. A soft groan escaped his lips at the orgasmic sensation of her warm, wet cunt, squeezing around his length. The sound of him moaning with pleasure caused her stomach to flutter and flip with butterflies.

Joffrey reached up to squeeze her big breasts, squeezing her tender, hardened nipples. He pinched them hard enough to make her cry out in pain and whimper, which suddenly encouraged him to seized her hips and pick her up so he could pound her harder than ever.

He pinched her sensitive nipple so hard, the tears jumped in her eyes, this time when she yelped. He roughly squeezed her soft breasts, then returned back to gripping her asscheeks.

While he continued to fuck her, hard, the hardest he had yet this time around and he slapped her plump and red ass cheek that was still stinging from all the spanking she had endured earlier. Both of his hands had attention to her ass as he continued to roughly spank and her and pull her cheeks apart.

She was getting really close, she could feel the pleasure built up inside, ready to blow.

Margaery stopped sucking on his throat, to examine the hickey that had just formed on his pale, tender skin. She hadn't even thought about it, but now there was evidence they had been intimate. He could always lie though, and say it was some whore he had fucked.

His perfect cock seemed to be hitting the sweet spot inside her, that made her feel as if she was going to explode in a matter of seconds.

"I'm going to cum," she whimpered into his ear, finding her throbbing clit with her fingers and rubbing it in rapid little circles.

Just as she said, only moments later, there was that rapid burst of tingling electricity that made her squeeze her eyes shut in ecstasy and see white flashes of heaven as she cried his name and tightened around him. It felt so indescribably good she couldn't even fathom the fact she was really feeling this. The perfect, euphoric feeling remained intensely lit for a few moments more, sparkling in her core and dripping cunt with pleasure. He was incredible at fucking her. And he still wasn't done.

"Good girl," Joffrey growled, yanking on her long, wavy hair and continuing to pound her, just as she started to come down from her climax. The feeling was almost too intense to handle. She could sense he was really close and going to blow his load any second.

"Marg..." he sighed, his big blue eyes fluttering shut. "I'm about...about to—"

He pushed her off of him, before he could explode inside her, and instantly, without being told to, she lowered her face between his legs so she could wrap her mouth and hand around his cock and pump swiftly he came. She could taste herself on his cock as she sucked on him and massaged his tight ballsack in her soft hand.

If they had waited just a second less he would have cum inside her, because suddenly his hot seed was spraying the back of her throat. He threw his head back in the pillows, squeezing his eyes shut and moaning with sweet pleasure as he released his warm, sticky climax into her mouth.

There wasn't as much as last time, evidently because he had cum for her just the other day.

She swallowed everything like a good little girl and sucked anything that remained of the tip of his dick.

"You taste so good, my love," she purred, and for a few quiet moments, she ran her sweet fingers gently up and down his abdomen and thighs. "I can't wait for the day you finish inside of me."

"Mmm," Joffrey only hummed in response, his eyes still shut. He hadn't moved from his spot and she could just tell h was so exhausted, he'd be out in the next five.

Margaery left the bed only for a few moments to lock his bedroom door with a key and blow out the candles in his room.

When she returned to the blankets, in the spot beside him in the dark, she expected him to cuddle up to her, but he didn't budge. From the faint, even sound of his breathing, it seemed as if he was already drifting off. To aid the process, she slowly and softly ran her loving over his arms and chest and abs, trailing down over his body with sweet, subtle pleasure.

Margaery only stopped when she knew he was out for sure, and she kissed his cheek innocently before settling beneath the blankets herself. She was so pleased with how tonight worked out and eventually she too slipped off into peaceful rest, in the same spot beside him, where she had woken up this morning. She hoped every day could be like this.


End file.
